University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


vr 


Jeannette  Preston 
Applezate  River  Ranch 
Jacksonville.  Oreeon 


THE  JOY  OF  LIVING 

(ES    LEBE    DAS    LEBEN) 


THE   JOY   OF    LIVING 

(ES    LEBE    DAS    LEBEN) 
A    PLAY    IN    FIVE    ACTS 

BY 

HERMANN    SUDERMANN 


TRANSLATED   FROM   THE   GERMAN 
BY 

EDITH    WHARTON 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
NEW  YORK:::::::::::::::::i9o6 


Copyright.  1902)  by  Charles  Sciibners  Sons 


Published,  November,  1902 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

PRINTING  AND  BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 
NEW  rORK 


Translator's  Note 

The  translation  of  dramatic  dialogue  is  attended 
with  special  difficulties,  and  these  are  peculiarly 
marked  in  translating  from  German  into  English. 
The  German  sentence  carries  more  ballast  than  Eng- 
lish readers  are  accustomed  to,  and  while  in  translat- 
ing narrative  one  may,  by  means  of  subordinate 
clauses,  follow  the  conformation  of  the  original,  it 
is  hard  to  do  so  in  rendering  conversation,  and  virtu- 
ally impossible  when  the  conversation  is  meant  to  be 
spoken  on  the  stage.  To  English  and  American 
spectators  the  long  German  speeches  are  a  severe 
strain  on  the  attention,  and  even  in  a  translation  in- 
tended only  for  the  "  closet  "  a  too  faithful  adher- 
ence to  German  construction  is  not  the  best  way  of 
doing  justice  to  the  original. 

Herr  Sudermannrs  dialogue  is  more  concise  than 
that  of  many  other  German  dramatists;  yet  in  trans- 
lation his  sentences  and  speeches  need  to  be  divided 
and  recast:  to  preserve  the  spirit,  the  letter  must  be 
modified.-  This  is  true  not  only  of  the  construction 
of  his  dialogue  but  also  of  his  forms  of  expression. 
Wherever  it  has  been  possible,  his  analogies,  his  al- 

[v] 


TRANSLATOR'S    NOTE 

lusions,  his  "  tours  de  phrase"  have  been  scrupulously 
followed;  but  where  they  seemed  to  obscure  his  mean- 
ing to  English  readers  some  adaptation  has  been 
necessary.  Apart  from  these  trifling  changest  the 
original  has  been  closely  followed;  and  such  modi- 
fications as  have  been  made  were  suggested  solely  by 
the  wish  to  reproduce  Herr  Sudermann's  meaning 
more  closely  than  a  literal  translation  would  have 
allowed. 


CHARACTERS 

COUNT  MICHAEL  VON  KELLINGHAUSEN. 

BEATA,  his  wife. 

ELLEN,  their  daughter. 

BARON  RICHARD  VON  VOLKERLINGK. 

LEONIE,  his  wife. 

NORBERT,  their  son,  reading  for  the  Bar. 

BARON  LUDWIG  VON  VOLKERLINGK  (Secretary  of  State,  Rich- 
ard's step-brother). 

PRINCE  USINGEN. 

BARON  VON  BRACHTMANN. 

HERR  VON  BERKELWITZ-GRUNHOF. 

DR.  KAHLENBERG  (Privy  Councillor  at  the  Board  of  Physicians). 

HOLTZMANN  (candidate  for  Holy  Orders,  private  secretary  to 
Baron  Richard  von  Volkerlingk). 

MEIXNER. 

A  PHYSICIAN. 

CONRAD,  servant  at  Count  Kellinghausen's. 

GEORGE,  Baron  Richard's  servant. 

ANOTHER  SERVANT. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  Berlin — the  first  three  and  the  fifth  acts  at 
the  house  of  Count  Kellinghausen ;  the  fourth  act  at  Baron 
Richard  Volkerlingk' s. 

Period :  about  1809. 


ML] 


ACT  I 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 


ACT   I 

A  drawing-room  in  the  Empire  style  in  COUNT 
KELLINGHAUSEN'S  house.  In  front,  on  the  left,  a 
fireplace;  to  the  left,  in  the  background,  a  door  to  the 
inner  apartments;  to  the  right,  back,  a  door  into  the 
front  passage;  in  the  foreground,  on  the  right,  a  win- 
dow. In  the  centre  of  back  wall  a  wide  opening  be- 
tween two  columns,  partly  closed  by  an  old  Gobelins 
tapestry.  On  the  right  a  sofa,  table  and  chairs.  On 
the  lefty  in  front  of  the  Jireplace,  several  low  seats.  Near 
the  middle,  placed  diagonally,  a  writing-table  with 
shelves;  beside  the  table  two  seats  with  low  backs  and 
a  comfortable  arm-chair.  Old  portraits  and  coloured 
prints  on  the  walls. 

HOLTZMANN  is  seated  at  the  back  of  the  room, 
a  portfolio  on  his  lap.  CONRAD  ushers  in  BARON  LUDWIO. 

CONRAD  (in  the  doorway). 

If  your  Excellency  will  kindly  come  this  way — 
the  doctor  is  with  Madame  von  Kellinghausen. 

[3] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Ah?     In  that  case  perhaps  I  had  better 

CONRAD. 

Madame  von  Kellinghausen  will  be  here  in  a  mo- 
ment, your  Excellency.  The  other  gentleman  has  al- 
ready been  announced.  (Indicating  HOLTZMANN.) 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Very  well.     (CONRAD  goes  out.) 

HOLTZMANN  (rises  and  makes  a  deep  bow). 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

(Bowing  slightly  in  return  wanders  about  the  room 
and  at  last  pauses  before  HOLTZMANN.)  I  beg  your 
pardon — but  surely  I  know  your  face. 

HOLTZMANN. 

Very  likely,  your  Excellency.     My  name  is  Holtz- 
mann,  private  secretary  to  Baron  Richard  von  Voll 
lingk. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Indeed?  I  am  so  seldom  at  my  brother's.  The 
fact  is — er,  well.  Yesterday  was  election-day  at 
Lengenfeld,  by  the  way.  The  papers  were  full  of  it 
this  morning.  It  seems  to  cause  a  good  deal  of  sur- 
prise that  Count  Kellinghausen  should  not  only  have 
withdrawn  in  favour  of  my  brother,  but  should  actu- 
[4] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

ally  have  gone  about  canvassing  for  him.     I  daresay 
that's  an  exaggeration,  though? 

HOLTZMANN. 

On  the  contrary,  your  Excellency.     The  Count  has 
been  down  in  the  country  electioneering  for  weeks. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Really?     And  you  were  with  him,  I  suppose? 

HOLTZMANN  (with  a  dry  smile). 
Very  much  so,  your  Excellency.     I  should  be  sorry 
to  be  answerable  for  all  the  nonsense  I've  had  to  talk 
and  write ! 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

H'm — just  so.     Nonsense  always  wins.     Who  said 
that,  by  the  way?     Julian  the  Apostate,  wasn't  it? 

HOLTZMANN. 
No,  your  Excellency.     Talbot. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Julian  might  have  said  it.     The  losing  side  always 
philosophises. 

HOLTZMANN. 
I  hope  we  sha'n't  be  on  the  losing  side. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
H'm.     What  is  your  profession? 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

HOLTZMANN. 

Theology,  your  Excellency. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

And  how  long  do  you  think  it  will  be  before  it 
lands  you  in  socialism? 

HOLTZMANN    (offended). 
Excellency ! 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

My  dear  sir,  look  at  the  examples !  I  remember  a 
predecessor  of  yours  at  my  brother's — a  theological 
student  also,  I  believe.  Well,  he  landed  with  both 
feet  in  the  middle  of  the  Socialist  camp. 

HOLTZMANN. 
Yes,  I  know,  your  Excellency.     You  mean  Meixner. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

That  reminds  me — I  hear  the  fellow  has  actually 
been  taking  a  leading  hand  in  the  fight  against  my 
brother. 

HOLTZMANN. 
The  report  is  true. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Well,  I  hope  you  hit  back  hard. 

HOLTZMANN. 

That  is  what  I  was  there  for,  your  Excellency. 
[6] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

Enter  BEATA  and  DR.  KAHLENBERG. 

BEATA. 

I  hadn't  dared  to  hope  that  your  Excellency  would 
answer  my  summons  so  promptly. 

BARON  LUDWIG   (kissing  her  hand). 
My  dear  Countess,  your  summons  was  a  command 
— and  one  I  was  only  too  happy  to  obey.      (BEATA 
turns  to  HOLTZMANN.)     Ah,  good-morning,  my  dear 
doctor. 

KAHLENBERG. 

Good-morning,  your  Excellency.  How  is  it  you 
haven't  been  in  lately  to  let  me  look  you  over?  A 
guilty  conscience,  eh? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Lack  of  time,  doctor.  Give  me  a  day  of  twenty- 
five  hours,  and  I'll  devote  one  of  them  to  consulting 
my  physician. 

KAHLENBERG. 

Who  will  order  you  to  rest  during  the  other  twenty- 
four. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

We  all  get  that  order  sooner  or  later,  doctor — and 
from  a  chief  we  have  to  obey.  (In  a  low  voice.) 
How  is  the  Countess? 

[7] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

KAHLENBERG  (same  tone). 

No  worse.  (To  BE  ATA.)  And  now,  my  dear  lady, 
I  must  be  off — but  what's  the  matter? 

BEATA  (joyously  excited,  a  paper  in  her  hand). 
Oh,  nothing — nothing — nothing 

KAHLENBERG  (in  a  tone  of  friendly  reproach). 
You  know  I've  warned  you 

BEATA. 

Not  to  feel,  not  to  think,  not  to  laugh,  not  to  cry — 
not  to  live,  in  short,  dear  doctor! 

KAHLENBERG. 
Well,  I  don't  object  to  the  laughing. 

BEATA. 

It's  just  as  well  you  don't,  for  it's  a  habit  you 
couldn't  break  me  of.  There  is  so  much  to  laugh 
at  in  this  vale  of  tears!  Well,  good-bye,  doctor! 
(KAHLENBERG  goes  out.) 

BEATA  (to  BARON  LUDWIG). 

This  will  interest  you  too.  Herr  Holtzmann — you 
know  Herr  Holtzmann? — has  just  brought  me  the  re- 
turns from  Lengenfeld.  Only  fancy,  your  brother 
has  a  majority  of  a  hundred  and  thirty-one!  Think 
of  that! 

[8] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Don't  let  us  be  too  sanguine. 

BEATA. 

HOLTZMANN. 

Six  districts  are  still  to  be  heard  from,  Countess, 
and  we  know  that  four  of  these  belong  to  the  So- 
cialists. It  is  still  doubtful  if  we  can  gain  a  majority. 

BEATA   (concealing  her  disappointment). 
And  when  do  you  expect  to  hear  the  final  result? 

HOLTZMANN. 
At  any  moment  now. 

BEATA. 
And  when  you  do  hear 

HOLTZMANN. 

I  will  jump  into  a  cab  and  bring  you  the  news 
instantly. 

BEATA. 

Thank  you  so  much.  (Gives  him  her  hand.)  Is 
Baron  Volkerlingk  at  home  ? 

HOLTZMANN. 

He  went  for  a  ride.  I  daresay  I  shall  find  him 
on  my  return. 

[9] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BE  AT  A. 

Remember  me  to  him,  won't  you?  (HOLTZMANN 
takes  leave  with  a  bow.) 

BARON  LUDWIO. 

What  do  you  hear  from  Kellinghausen  ?  He  is 
still  at  Lengenfeld,  I  hear. 

BEATA. 

I  have  just  had  a  letter.  Now  that  the  elections 
are  over  he  means  to  take  a  day's  shooting,  and  then 
he  is  coming  home — free  from  his  party- duties  for 
the  first  time  in  years ! 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

And  what  does  the  Egeria  of  the  party  say  to  such 
a  state  of  things? 

BEATA. 
Do  you  mean  me,  your  Excellency? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

I  mean  the  woman  at  whose  delightful  dinner- 
table  the  fate  of  more  than  one  important  bill  has 
been  decided.  Now  that  Kellinghausen  has  retired 
into  private  life,  do  you  mean  to  keep  up  the  little 
political  dinners  we've  always  been  so  much  afraid 
of? 

[10] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

I  hope  so,  your  Excellency.  And  if  you  care  to 
beard  the  lion  in  his  den,  I  shall  be  charmed  to  send 
you  an  invitation.  You  haven't  dined  with  us  in  an 
age.  I've  always  fancied  that  the  estrangement  be- 
tween your  brother  and  yourself  might  be  the  cause 
of  our  seeing  so  little  of  you. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

My  dear  Countess,  those  eyes  of  yours  see  through 
everything;  and  I  read  in  them  all  the  answers  I 
might  make  to  that  question.  Ah,  well — Richard 
had  the  good  luck,  the  unspeakable  good  luck,  to  win 
your  friendship,  and  under  your  influence,  to  develop 
into  the  man  he  is! 

BEATA. 

I  know  how  to  listen  when  clever  men  are  talking. 
That  is  the  secret  of  what  you  call  my  influence. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

You  think  so? — Well — there  was  Richard,  dab- 
bling in  poetry  and  politics,  in  archaeology  and  ex- 
plorations, like  the  typical  noble  amateur.  He  had 
a  fortune  from  his  mother,  while  I  was  poor.  But 
in  one  respect  I  was  richer  than  fie;  for  he  married  a 
fool  who  dragged  him  down  to  the  level  of  her  own 
silly  snobbishness.  But  then  you  came — and  lifted 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

him  up  again.  Then  all  his  dormant  powers  awoke — 
he  discovered  his  gift  as  a  speaker,  he  became  the 
mouthpiece  of  the  party,  he  got  into  the  Reichstag, 

and 

BEATA. 
And  dropped  out  again. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Exactly.  And  the  estrangement  between  us  dates 
from  that  time.  It  was  reported  that  government  had 
left  him  in  the  lurch,  arid  I  was  thought  to  be  more 
or  less  responsible. 

BEATA. 

At  all  events,  his  career  was  cut  short.  And  he 
failed  again  at  the  next  election. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
And  now  your  friendship  has  helped  him  to  success. 

BEATA. 
My  husband's  friendship,  you  mean. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

In  my  loveless  household  I  know  too  little  of  the 
power  of  woman  to  pronounce  definitely  on  that  point. 

BEATA. 

You  do  well  to  suspend  your  judgment, 
f  121 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Ah,  now  you  are  displeased  with  me.  I  am  sorry. 
I  might  be  of  use  to  you. 

BE  AT  A. 

If  you  wish  to  be  of  use  to  me  you  can  do  so  by 
becoming  your  brother's  friend.  It  was  to  ask  you 
this  that  I  sent  for  you. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Countess,  I  wonder  at  your  faith  in  human  nature ! 

BEATA. 
Human  nature  has  never  deceived  me. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

One  would  adore  you  for  saying  that  if  one  hadn't 
so  many  other  reasons  for  doing  so ! 

BEATA  (laughing). 
Pretty  speeches  at  our  age? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
You  may  talk  of  my  age,  but  not  of  yours. 

BEATA. 

Look  at  the  grey  hair — here,  on  my  temples;  and 
my  medicine-bottles  over  there.  I  never  stir  without 
them  now. 

[13] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
I  have  been  distressed  to  hear  of  your  illness. 

BE  ATA. 

Yes,  my  heart  bothers  me — an  old  story.  My 
heart  is  tired — and  I — I'm  not.  And  when  I  drive 
it  too  hard  it  grows  a  little  restive  now  and  then. 
But  it  doesn't  matter !  (Enter  ELLEN.)  Is  that  you, 
Ellen?  Come  in,  dear. 

ELLEN  (in  skating  dress}. 

Mother,  dear,  I  didn't  know  you  had  a  visitor. 
How  do  you  do,  your  Excellency? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

How  do  you  do,  young  lady?  Dear  me — dear  me 
— what  have  you  been  growing  into? 

ELLEN. 
Into  life,  your  Excellency ! 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Ha — very  good — very  neat.  So  many  people  just 
grow  past  it. 

BEATA. 
And  how  was  the  skating,  dear? 

ELLEN. 

Oh,  heavenly.  Norbert  and  I  simply  flew.  Poor 
Miss  Mansborough — we  left  her  miles  behind! 

[14  J 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

Well,  run  away  now.  Take  off  your  fur  jacket-— 
you're  too  warm. 

ELLEN. 
Good-bye,  your  Excellency. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Au  revoir,  little  Countess.     (ELLEN  goes  out.) 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
What  a  little  wonder  you've  made  of  her! 

BEATA. 
She  is  developing,  isn't  she  ? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

And  my  nephew  Norbert — you  have  developed  him 
too.  A  very  comprehensive  piece  of  work.  (BEATA 
laughs.) 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

If  only  he  doesn't  stray  from  the  path  you've 
marked  out  for  him. 

BEATA. 

Ah — you  are  thinking  of  that  pamphlet  of  his? 

BARON  LUDWIG  (nods). 

An  attack  on  duelling,  I  understand?  Well,  it's 
no  business  of  mine. 

[15] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 
He  is  not  as  immature  as  you  think. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Indeed? 

Enter  CONRAD. 

CONRAD  (announcing). 

Baron  von  Brachtmann,  his  Highness  Prince 
Usingen. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

The  pillars  of  the  state!  Brachtmann  especially. 
This  is  something  for  me  to  remember,  Countess. 

Enter  BRACHTMANN  and  PRINCE.     CONRAD  goes  out. 

BRACHTMANN. 
My  dear  Countess 

BEATA. 

I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.  And  you,  Prince.  Al- 
ways faithful  to  the  cause? 

PRINCE. 

Yes,  Countess;  as  far  as  fidelity  is  consonant  with 
perfect  inactivity. — Glad  to  shake  hands  between  two 
rounds,  your  Excellency. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Our  encounters  are  not  sanguinary,  your  Highness, 
f  16  \ 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

PRINCE. 

No — although  one  adversary  occasionally  cuts  an- 
other. (Laughter.) 

BRACHTMANN. 

We  ventured  to  call,  Countess,  because  we  fancied 
that  Vb'lkerlingk  would  keep  you  posted  as  to  the  news 
from  Lengenfeld. 

BEATA. 

Baron  Volkerlingk  has  done  me  no  such  honour. 
But — by  the  merest  accident — his  secretary  was  here 
just  now.  Here  are  the  latest  returns.  (Hands  him 
the  paper.) 

BRACHTMANN   (bending  over  the  paper). 

H  m,  h  m 

PRINCE. 
Let  me  see. 

BRACHTMANN. 

Well,  we'll  hope  for  the  best.  Kellinghausen's  per- 
sonal popularity  has  secured  a  conservative  majority 
till  now;  but  now  that  he  has  withdrawn  in  favour 
of  another  man — even  though  that  man  is  Volkerlingk 
— the  result  is  more  than  doubtful. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

I  confess,  Countess,  that  even  if  Kellinghausen 
looked  upon  his  politics  merely  as  a  branch  of  sport, 

[17] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

I  don't  quite  understand  his  sacrificing  his  career  to 
my  brother. 

BEATA. 

My  husband  is  very  easy-going.  He  has  no  am- 
bition. They  had  bothered  him  dreadfully  at  their 
committee-meetings  about  things  he  didn't  under- 
stand— at  least  he  said  he  didn't.  The  truth  is,  it 
probably  bored  him. 

BRACHTMANN. 

But  how  about  his  fanatical  devotion  to  the  party? 
If  we  are  all  monomaniacs  on  that  subject,  he  is  cer- 
tainly the  worst.  He  felt  more  keenly  than  any  of 
us  what  the  party  lost  in  losing  your  brother  (to 
BARON  LUDWIG)  —  he  realised  our  need  of  Volker- 
lingk's  efficiency  and  energy.  He  saw  what  a  great 
power  was  lying  idle.  Doesn't  that  explain  his 
action  ? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

I  needn't  tell  you,  Herr  von  Brachtmann,  how 
pleasant  it  is  to  hear  my  brother  praised.  I  quite 
realise  how  much  you  need  him  at  this  particular 
moment — with  the  debate  on  the  civil  code  pending, 
and  the  serious  questions  likely  to  come  up  in  con- 
nection with  it.  (To  BEATA.)  But  that  Kellinghausen 
should  have  consented  to  withdraw,  even  in  such  an 
emergency —  I  have  so  often  heard  him  say,  Count- 
[18] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

ess,  that  it  was  the  duty  of  a  landed  proprietor  to 
represent  the  district  in  which  his  property  lay.  He 
said  it  was  the  only  justification  of  a  representative 
government. 

BEATA. 
But  you  know  you  all  say  that! 

PRINCE. 

My  dear  Countess,  the  revolutionary  spirit  has 
entered  into  our  traditions,  and  the  modern  idea  of 
making  a  revolution  is  to  gird  at  existing  institutions. 
Why  deprive  us  of  such  an  innocent  amusement? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Really,  Prince — pardon  me — but  since,  by  birth 
and  political  affiliations,  you  are  a  supporter  of  ex- 
isting institutions,  would  it  not  be  well  to  speak  of 
them  less  flippantly? 

PRINCE. 

Why,  my  dear  Baron? — Countess,  shall  I  show  you 
the  attitude  of  the  modern  state  toward  its  citizens? 
Here  we  are :  the  state  with  its  hand  in  its  pocket, 
the  citizen  with  his  fist  clenched.  And  the  only  way 
to  unclench  the  citizen's  fist  is  for  the  state  to  pull 
something  out  of  its  pocket.  There's  the  situation  in 
a  nutshell.  It's  a  matter  of  taste  whether  one  re- 
spects such  an  institution  or  not. 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BaACHTMANN. 

You  know,  Baron,  he  is  the  spoiled  child  of  the 
party. 

PRINCE. 

Its  prodigal  son,  you  mean.  I  squandered  all  my 
original  ideas  long  ago,  and  am  living  on  the  husks 
of  the  feudal  tradition.  But  we  are  boring  Madame 
von  Kellinghausen.  (The  three  men  rise.) 

BEATA. 

Good-bye,  Prince — Herr  von  Brachtmann.  (To 
BARON  LUDWIG.)  Whenever  your  solitude  weighs  on 
you,  come  in  and  let  me  give  you  a  cup  of  tea. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

You  are  very  good.  But  I  am  afraid  it  is  too  late 
to  begin. 

BEATA. 
It  is  never  too  late  to  renew  an  old  friendship. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Thank  you.      (Goes  out  with  the  two  other  men.') 

ELLEN  enters. 

ELLEN. 

(Throwing  her  arms  about  her  mother's  neck.) 
Mother!  You  dear  little  mamma! 

BEATA. 

Well,  madcap — what  is  it  now? 
[20] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

ELLEN. 
Oh,  nothing,  nothing.     I'm  so  happy,  that's  all. 

BE  ATA. 
What  are  you  happy  about,  dear? 

ELLEN. 
I  don't  know — does  one  ever? 

BE  ATA. 
Has  anything  in  particular  happened? 

ELLEN. 

No;  nothing.  That  is — Norbert  said —  Oh,  yes 
to  be  sure;  we  met  Uncle  Richard. 

BEATA. 

Ah — where  ? 

ELLEN. 

In  the  Zoo.  On  horseback.  He  sent  his  love  and 
said  he  would  be  in  before  dinner.  Norbert  is  com- 
ing too.  Mother,  is  it  true  that  Uncle  Richard  is 
such  a  wonderful  speaker?  Norbert  says  he  can  do 
what  he  likes  with  people. 

BEATA. 

Some  people — but  only  those  whose  thoughts  he 
can  turn  into  feelings,  or  whose  feelings  he  can  turn 
into  thoughts.  Do  you  understand? 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

ELLEN. 

Oh,  yes !  You  mean,  one  can  give  only  to  those  who 
have  something  to  give  in  return? 

BEATA. 
Yes. 

ELLEN. 

But  he  must  have  great  power — I  am  sure  of  it! 
He's  always  so  quiet,  and  says  so  little — yet  one  feels 
there's  a  great  fire  inside — and  sometimes  it  blazes  up. 

BEATA  (laughing). 
What  do  you  know  about  it? 

ELLEN. 

Oh,  I  know.  It's  just  the  same  with —  Mother, 
how  can  people  bear  life  sometimes?  It's  so  beauti- 
ful one  simply  can't  breathe! 

BEATA  (with  emotion). 

Yes,  it  is  beautiful.  And  even  when  it's  nothing 
but  pain  and  fear  and  renunciation,  even  then  it's 
still  beautiful,  Ellen. 

ELLEN  (alarmed). 
Mother — what  is  the  matter? 

BEATA. 

Nothing,  dear.  I'm  only  a  little  tired.  (She  goes 
to  the  door.) 

[22] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

CONRAD  enters. 

CONRAD. 
Baron  Norbert.     (Goes  out.) 

NORBERT  enters. 

NORBERT. 
How  d'ye  do,  Aunt  Beata?     How  are  you  to-day? 

BE  ATA  (wearily). 
Very  well,  thanks. 

ELLEN  (anxiously). 
No,  not  very  well.     (BEATA  signs  her  to  be  silent.) 

NORBERT. 

This  is  Thursday.     Ellen  and   I  were  to  read  / 
Promessi  Sposi  together;  but  if  I  might  say  a  word 

to  you  first 

BEATA. 
Presently,  Norbert.     Wait  for  me  here. 

ELLEN. 
Don't  you  want  me,  mother? 

BEATA. 

No,  dear.     Stay  with  Norbert.     I  shall  be  back  in 
a  moment.      (She  goes  out.) 

ELLEN   (looking  after  her). 
Oh,  Norbert! 

[23] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

NORBERT. 

Is  she  really  worse? 

ELLEN. 

No,  she  is  just  the  same  as  usual.  But  at  night — 
oh,  Norbert,  she's  never  in  bed.  All  night  she  wan- 
ders, wanders.  When  I  hear  her  coming,  I  lie  quite 
still.  If  she  knew  I  was  awake  she  might  not  come 
any  more.  She  never  touches  me,  but  just  bends 
over  and  strokes  my  pillow,  oh,  so  softly!  And  she 
breathes  so  hard,  as  if  it  hurt  her — and  then  gradu- 
ally she  grows  quiet  again.  When  you  see  her  in  the 
daytime,  so  gay  and  dear  and  busy,  so  full  of  other 
people's  pleasures,  you'd  never  guess  the  misery  she 
endures.  Oh,  Norbert,  you  do  love  her,  don't  you? 

NORBERT. 
I  believe  I  love  her  better  than  my  own  mother. 

ELLEN. 

No,  no,  Norbert,  that's  wicked.  You  mustn't  say 
that. 

NORBERT. 

Perhaps  not,  but  I  can't  help  feeling  it.  And  why 
shouldn't  I,  after  all?  When  I  was  a  boy  my  father 
was  everything  to  me — after  that  he  was  always  trav- 
elling, and  I  was  left  to  my  own  devices.  There  are 
so  many  things  that  puzzle  a  chap  when  there's  no 
one  to  talk  them  over  with.  It's  different  with  girls, 
[24] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

I  suppose.  At  first  I  used  to  go  to  my  mother:  she's 
always  found  life  simple  enough.  Visits,  and  parties, 
and  church — she  looks  upon  church-going  as  another 
kind  of  visiting — well,  do  you  know  what  she  said 
to  me?  "  In  the  first  place,  my  dear  boy,  your 
trousers  are  shocking.  What  you  need  is  a  good 
tailor.  Then  you  ought  to  take  up  lawn  tennis — 
and  after  that,  we'll  see."  Well,  that  didn't  help 
me  much.  And  then  your  mother  took  pity  on  me. 
Again  and  again  she's  let  me  sit  up  half  the  night, 
talking  things  over  with  her. 

ELLEN. 

And  now  you  and  she  have  got  something  to  say 
to  each  other  again.  What  is  it,  Norbert?  Do  tell 
me !  Why  can't  I  help  you  as  well  as  mother  ? 

NORBERT. 

Perhaps  you'd  like  to  do  my  examination  papers 
for  me? 

ELLEN. 

Nonsense;  it's  not  that. — But  you  don't  care  for 
me  any  more. 

NORBERT. 
You  silly  child! 

ELLEN. 
You  told  me  you  did  once — long  ago — but  since 

then — you've  never  once 

[25] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

NORBERT. 

Listen,  dear.  I  made  an  awful  ass  of  myself  that 
day.  Do  you  know  what  I  did?  I  called  on  your 
father  to  ask  his  permission  to  marry  you. 

ELLEN. 
And  you  never  told  me? 

NORBERT. 

Luckily  your  father  was  out — and  as  for  your 
mother — well,  she  simply  laughed  at  me! 

ELLEN. 
Oh! 

NORBERT. 

Oh,  you  know  how  your  mother  laughs  at  one.  It 
doesn't  hurt.  "  Dear  boy,"  she  said,  in  the  kindest 
way,  "  it's  too  soon  to  talk  of  such  things  to  Ellen. 
You  must  give  her  time  to  grow  up."  And  I  gave 
her  my  word  I  would;  and  you  see  I've  kept  it. 

ELLEN. 
And  if  mother  should 

BBATA  enters. 

BEATA. 

Ellen,  dear,  go  to  Miss  Mansborough.     It's  time 
for  your  reading.     Norbert  will  come  in  a  moment. 
[26] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

ELLEN. 
Yes,  mother.     (Goes  out.) 

BEATA  (who  has  been  watching  them  closely). 
By  the  way,  Norbert — what  about  that  promise  you 
made  me? 

NORBERT. 
I've  kept  it,  Aunt  Beata. 

BEATA. 
Then  you  want  to  talk  to  me  about  something  else? 

NORBERT. 

Yes.  The  storm-signals  are  up.  My  college  club 
has  turned  on  me:  one,  two,  three,  and  out  you  go! 

BEATA. 
Not  in  disgrace? 

NORBERT. 

I'm  not  so  sure.  I  got  an  official  letter  yesterday 
from  the  committee,  asking  me  if  I  was  the  author 
of  a  pamphlet  called  "  The  Ordeal." 

BEATA. 
Why  did  you  write  it  under  an  assumed  name? 

NORBERT. 

Only  on  my  father's  account. 
[27] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

If  you  disguised  yourself  at  all,  you  ought  to  have 
done  so  more  thoroughly. 

NORBERT. 

Why,  Aunt  Beata!  Haven't  you  often  told  me 
that  every  reformer  must  have  the  courage  of  his 
convictions  ? 

BEATA. 

Yes;  but  I've  no  sympathy  with  unnecessary  mar- 
tyrdom. Keep  a  cool  head,  dear  boy,  and  don't  be 
drawn  into  controversy  just  yet.  Haven't  I  often 
told  you  that  this  college  duelling  you  rail  against 
is  only  a  preparation  for  the  real  battle  of  life — the 
battle  of  ideas  and  beliefs?  You'll  come  to  that 
later — ask  your  father  how  it  is ! 

NORBERT. 

Oh,  father — of  course  he's  only  interested  in  big 
things. 

BEATA. 
What  does  he  say  to  your  article? 

NORBERT. 
Immature. 

BEATA. 
Was  he  vexed? 

[28] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

NORBERT. 

When  I  asked  him  if  it  annoyed  him,  he  laughed 
and  said : — "  I  know  the  world  too  well  to  agree  with 
you.  But  you  must  work  out  the  problem  for  your- 
self. I  sha'n't  interfere." 

BE  AT  A. 

Well,  what  more  do  you  want?  Did  you  expect 
him  to  go  into  raptures? 

NORBERT. 

Wait  and  see,  Aunt  Beata!  I  mean  to  suffer  for 
my  convictions.  I  mean  to  brave  persecution.  Is 
that  a  laughing  matter? 

BEATA. 

Come !  Come !  No  bragging — not  even  about  per- 
secution. It's  intoxicating  at  first,  but  the  after-taste 
is  bitter. 

NORBERT. 
Don't  make  fun  of  me,  Aunt  Beata. 

BEATA. 

Heaven  forbid!  You  know  I  don't  disapprove  of 
your  article. 

NORBERT. 

How  could  you?     Isn't  it  all  yours? 
[29] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 
I  don't  understand  anything  about  duelling. 

NORBERT. 

No,  but  my  ideas  are  yours — every  one  of  them. 
All  I've  said  about  self-restraint  —  about  striving 
toward  an  harmonious  whole — about  the  Greek  ideal 
of  freedom — and  how  posterity  will  smile  at  our 
struggles — it's  all  yours,  Aunt  Beata,  every  word 
of  it. 

BEATA. 

Don't  tell  your  father !  And  besides,  it  isn't.  My 
ideas  have  got  twisted  in  that  wild  young  brain  of 
yours.  And  it  might  annoy  him  to  think  that  I  had 
put  them  there 

NORBERT. 

Oh,  Aunt  Beata,  7  know  what  you  really  think. 
But,  of  course,  if  you  don't  want  me  to,  I 

Enter  CONRAD. 

CONRAD   (announcing). 
Baron  Volkerlingk. 

Enter  RICHARD.     CONRAD  goes  out. 

RICHARD. 

Well,  dear  friend?     What  sort  of  a  night  have  you 
had?     Not  good,  I'm  afraid. 
[30] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

There's  no  use  in  trying  to  deceive  you.  Have 
you  just  come  from  your  own  house? 

RICHARD. 
Yes. 

BEATA. 
Well?     Telegrams? 

RICHARD. 

None  for  the  last  two  hours.  Well,  Norbert,  yon 
here,  as  usual?  (To  BEATA.)  So  you  have  the 
younger  generation  on  your  hands  too  ? 

BEATA   (laughing). 

So  much  the  better,  since  the  older  shows  itself  so 
seldom  nowadays. 

RICHARD. 

Ah,  well 

BEATA. 
Good-bye,  Norbert  dear. 

NORBERT  (kissing  BEATA'S  hand). 
Good-bye,  father.     (RICHARD  nods  to  him.     NOR- 
BERT goes  out.) 

BEATA. 

Will  you  dine  with  me  to-day,  Richard?  (RICHARD 
shakes  his  head.) 

[31] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BE  AT  A. 
Just  we  two? 

RICHARD. 

I  can't:  my  wife  has  a  dinner:  an  ambassador  and 
his  wife,  two  lights  of  the  Church,  and  others  of  the 
same  feather.  I  must  show  myself  on  such  occa- 
sions, to  keep  up  appearances. 

BEATA. 

I'm  sorry.  I  should  have  liked  to  have  you  with 
me — to-day.  How  do  you  stand  the  suspense?  Per- 
haps I  don't  show  it — but  I'm  in  a  fever. 

RICHARD. 

It's  telling  on  me  too.  The  fact  is,  any  poor  devil 
of  a  mountebank  is  a  king  compared  to  one  of  us. 
He  does  his  trick  and  gets  his  pay. — Oh,  this  last 
fortnight!  If  you'd  seen  me  driven  about  from  vil- 
lage to  village  like  a  travelling  quack !  Freedom  and 
hot  words,  free  beer  and  hot  sausages!  And,  to  cap 
the  climax,  a  fellow  who  used  to  be  my  private  secre- 
tary leading  the  campaign  against  me !  Bah — it  was 
horrible.  As  for  Michael,  with  his  Olympian  calm, 
he  saw  only  the  humorous  side  of  it.  (Laughing.) 

BEATA. 

I  wonder  he  let  you  leave  before  the  election. 
I  321 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 

He  thought  I  ought  not  to  make  myself  too  cheap. 
I  quite  agreed  with  him,  and  took  myself  off.  Hang 
the  democracy! 

BEATA. 

If  only  the  noblemen  who  want  to  rule  could  get 
on  without  it! 

RICHARD. 

They  could,  if  the  spirit  of  the  age  hadn't  turned 
them  into  demagogues. 

BEATA. 
Did  Holtzmann  do  as  well  as  you  expected? 

RICHARD. 

Admirably.  But  he's  been  going  about  with  such 
a  long  face  lately  that  he's  rather  got  on  my  nerves. 
— I  heard  you  had  told  him  to  come  back  when  the 
returns  are  in — may  I  wait  for  him  here? — When 
one  thinks  that  something  will  come  in  at  that  door 
presently — something  dressed  like  Holtzmann,  look- 
ing like  Holtzmann — and  that  that  something  will  be 
Fate — nothing  more  or  less  than  Fate! 

BEATA. 

And  if   he  comes   in   and  says — or   rather,  if  he 
doesn't  say  anything?     Remember,  Richard,  even  if 
that  happens,  you've  got  to  go  on  living! 
[331 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 

Of  course.  Why  not?  It's  all  in  the  day's  work. 
An  Indian  penitent  was  once  asked:  "Why  do  you 
go  on  living?"  And  his  answer  was:  "Because  I 
am  dead." — Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  be  ungrateful.  As 
long  as  I  have  you,  dear — as  long  as  you  are  here 
to  live  my  life  with  me,  to  give  it  colour  and  mean- 
ing and  purpose — let  come  what  may,  nothing  else 
matters.  » 

BEATA. 

Don't  say  that — don't 

RICHARD. 

Am  I  exaggerating?  Why,  ever  since  we —  How 
long  ago  is  it  that  we  met  for  the  first  time,  in  the 
wood  at  Tarasp?  Fifteen  years? 

BEATA. 
It  seems  like  yesterday. 

RICHARD. 

You  passed  between  the  dark  pine-trunks  like  an 
apparition.  You  wore  a  pink  dress  and  had  Ellen 
by  the  hand. 

BEATA. 
She  was  tired  and  had  begun  to  cry. 

RICHARD. 

I  saw  that  she  wanted  to  be  carried. 
[34] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

And  I  was  just  recovering  from  an  illness,  and 
was  too  weak  to  lift  her.  You  raised  your  hat — no, 
it  was  the  white  cap  you  wore 

RICHARD. 
Do  you  remember  that? 

BEATA. 

Good  heavens,  what  was  I  then,  and  what  have 
you  made  of  me?  My  own — let  me  call  you  that 
just  once,  Richard,  as  I  used  to  do — just  once,  on 
this  great  day — my  own!  (RICHARD  looks  nervously 
toward  the  door.) 

BEATA. 
There  is  no  one  coming. 

RICHARD. 
Let  you! 

BEATA. 

What  a  quiet  happy  little  woman  I  was!  That 
"  happy "  is  not  meant  as  a  reproach,  dearest !  I 
have  a  boundless  capacity  for  happiness,  and  it  kept 
me  company  even  in  the  loneliness  of  my  early  mar- 
ried life — for  in  those  days  Michael  didn't  take  much 
notice  of  me.  It  was  you  who  showed  him  that  I 
was  worth  noticing.  And  so  you  built  up  my  new 
life — a  hard  life  to  carry,  at  times,  a  life  bowed 
[35] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

under  its  own  wealth  as  the  vine  is  bowed  under  its 
fruit — but  how  it  has  grown  under  your  hand,  dear- 
est, how  it  has  spread  and  strengthened ! — Now  you're 
laughing  at  me,  Richard. 

RICHARD. 

Beata — no  one  knows  as  you  do  how  I  have  blun- 
dered and  struggled.  What  are  you  trying  to  do? 
Do  you  want  to  give  me  more  faith  in  myself,  or 
do  you  really  think  I've  done  all  that  for  you? 

BEATA. 

I  know  every  line  in  your  forehead,  I  watch  every 
look  in  your  eye,  I  read  every  thought  in  your  soul — 
there  are  some  I  could  wish  away,  for  they  only  make 
you  miserable — but  no  one  knows  as  I  do  what  you 
are,  and  what  you  have  been  to  me! 

RICHARD. 
When  will  Michael  be  here? 

BEATA. 

How  suddenly  you  ask  that!  You  are  tormenting 
yourself  again.  Dear — dearest — don't  look  like  that ! 
Why,  it  never  really  happened — it's  been  dead  and 
buried  for  years — dead  and  buried,  every  trace  of  it. 
No  one  knows  what  we  were  to  each  other,  no  one 
even  dreams  it.  And  we're  old  people  now — you 
[36] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

and  I.  Only  think,  I  shall  soon  be  forty!  Who  is 
going  to  ask  two  old  mummies  what  follies  they  com- 
mitted in  the  year  one? 

RICHARD. 

You  are  pretending  not  to  care,  Beata.  Don't  do 
that! 

BEATA. 

Don't  weigh  every  word  I  say — just  look  into  my 
wicked  heart.  Your  conscience  has  nothing  to  do 
with  that!  And  if  you're  fond  of  Michael — if  we're 
both  fond  of  him — and  why  shouldn't  we  both  be 
fond  of  him — that  dear,  good,  cheery  Michael  of 
ours? — why,  that  needn't  make  you  probe  the  depths 
of  your  soul  for  fresh  wickedness.  I  tell  you  we've 
paid  for  everything,  even  to  the  uttermost  farthing! 

RICHARD. 

Do  you  think  so?  It  seems  to  me  that  when  a 
man  and  a  woman  have  found  everything  in  each 
other,  as  we  have,  when  they  have  been  to  each  other 
the  strength  and  the  meaning  and  the  object  of  life 
— when  they've  resolved  to  die  fighting  back  to  back, 
together  to  the  last,  as  you  used  to  say — it  seems  to 
me  that  in  such  a  case  there  isn't  much  room  for 
expiation.  If  Purgatory  is  like  that  it  must  be  fairly 
habitable.  (BEATA  laughs.*)  Ah,  now  you  are  flip- 
pant. 

[37] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 
Be  thankful  that  one  of  us  is,  dear ! 

RICHARD. 

I  remember  when  I  lost  my  seat,  six  years  ago — 
it  was  a  hard  knock,  I  can  tell  you — everything  went 
under  at  once — well,  I  said  to  myself:  This  is  my 
punishment.  And  the  idea  never  left  me.  While  I 
was  wandering  about  the  world,  or  vegetating  down 
in  the  country,  I  actually  used  to  get  a  kind  of  com- 
fort out  of  it.  And  now?  Do  you  know,  I  some- 
times fancy  you  wouldn't  be  altogether  sorry  if  I 
lost  my  election  again. 

BEATA  (laughingly"). 
Really?     Do  you  think  that? 

RICHARD. 

In  fact  I'm  not  at  all  sure  you  hold  with  the  party 
any  longer. 

BEATA. 

What — I,  its  Egeria?  An  elderly  party-nymph 
gone  wrong?  What  a  shocking  idea! 

RICHARD. 

I'm  sure  of  one  thing — you  enjoy  looking  over  our 
heads. 

BEATA. 

Don't  say  our  heads — don't  include  yourself  with 
the  rest.     You   think  of  your  duty;   they  think   of 
[38J 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

their  rights.     You  use  the  masses  in  order  to  serve 
them.     The  others  think  only  of  power. 

RICHARD. 
Oh,  as  to  that — we  all  want  power. 

BEATA. 

Yes:  the  question  is,  for  whose  benefit? — Ah,  well, 
I  see  I  shall  have  to  tell  you — you  ought  to  know — 
the  sooner  the  better,  I  suppose! 

RICHARD. 
Tell  me  what? 

BEATA. 

Dear — did  you  really  think  it  was  Michael's  fond- 
est wish  to  resign  his  seat  in  Parliament,  and  live 
only  for  his  horses? 

RICHARD. 
I've  heard  him  say  so  often  enough. 

BEATA. 

And  so  you  leaped  into  the  breach — in  the  interests 
of  the  party? 

RICHARD    (hesitating). 

And  because  —  (suddenly)  Beata  —  there's  been 
some  deception?  (BEATA  nods.)  Some  one  has  been 

working  against  me ? 

[39] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

Or  for  you — as  you  please. — Sit  down  beside  me, 
dear ;  give  me  both  your  hands — so !  And  now  listen. 
I  couldn't  bear  to  see  your  disappointment — your 
suffering — I  suffered  with  you  too  intensely!  And 
so — don't  look  so  startled,  or  I  shall  lose  heart  and 
be  afraid  to  go  on. — How  shall  I  tell  you? — It's 
taken  me  a  year — a  whole  year's  work.  By  degrees 
I  persuaded  him  that  he  was  unsuited  to  Parliament- 
ary life — gradually  I  turned  him  against  the  potter- 
ing routine-work  which  is  the  only  thing  he  can  do 
— little  by  little  I  made  him  see  what  a  boon  it  would 
be  for  the  country  and  the  party  if  he  would  only 
let  you  take  his  place.  Till  at  last  he  did 

RICHARD   (rising). 

BEATA. 

Can  you  say  now  that  I  didn't  want  you  elected? 
(RICHARD  is  silent.)  I  should  never  have  told  you 
this  if  I  hadn't  known  that  his  pride  in  his  heroic 
feat  would  make  him  betray  himself  sooner  or 
later.  (A  pause.)  After  all,  think  how  little  he's 
given  up !  To  him  it  was  only  a — pastime — to  you 
it  is  life.  I  had  no  choice,  had  I  ?  You  do  see  that, 
don't  you?  (A  pause.)  Richard,  I  may  be  a  very 
wicked  woman,  but  at  least  I  deserve  one  look  from 


vouJ 


[  40 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 

Beata! — Beata!  What  can  I  say?  What  can  1 
say?  You  know  how  I've  always  tried  to  keep  our 
feeling  for  each  other  within  the  bounds — the  bounds 
of —  You  know  how  it  was  twelve  years  ago — when 
I  found  myself  gradually  slipping  into  intimacy  with 
him,  I  came  to  you  and  said:  "  Either  this  thing  ends 
here,  or  I  tell  him  everything.  I  won't  take  his  hand 
and  play  the  sneak.  If  I  do,  we  shall  lose  our  re- 
spect for  each  other  as  well  as  our  self-respect." 
And  then  we  hit  on  this  friendship  as  a  way  out  of 
it — a  way  of  not  losing  each  other  altogether.  It 
wasn't  a  very  honourable  solution — but  this — this  new 
sacrifice  —  if  I  accept  this  —  God!  If  Holtzmann 
were  to  come  in  now  and  tell  me  the  other  man  has 
won,  what  a  load  he  would  take  off  my  mind ! 

BEATA. 
Richard — how  can  you? 

RICHARD. 

Think  of  it:  To-morrow  I  shall  have  to  make  that 
speech.  My  position,  my  convictions,  compel  me  to 
appear  as  the  spokesman  of  the  highest  ideals — and 
all  the  while  I  shall  owe  my  seat  to  the  friend  whose 
holiest  ties  I  have  trampled  on 

BEATA. 

And  if  they  were  not  the  holiest ? 

[41] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD   (startled). 
Beata! 

BEATA. 
Don't  turn  from  me.     I've  loved  you  so  long! 

RICHARD   (clasps  her  hands). 

One  thing  more.  Listen  to  me.  You  played  too 
reckless  a  game.  Such  things  are  avenged.  No  one 
knows  what  happened  in  the  past.  Twelve  years 
have  covered  it;  but  it's  ill  disturbing  the  dead. 
Such  things  are  avenged.  Remember  that. 

BEATA. 
Well— and  what  of  it? 

RICHARD. 

What  of  it? 

BEATA. 

I  shouldn't  care — except  for  Norbert  and  Ellen. 
For  I  mean  them  to  have  all  the  happiness  we  have 
missed.  Nothing  must  ever  come  between —  Hush! 
That  is  Holtzmann's  voice.  (She  presses  her  left 
hand  to  her  heart.)  Quite  steady.  (She  holds  out 
her  right  hand  to  RICHARD.)  Feel  my  pulse — it's 
perfectly  steady. 

CONRAD  enters. 

CONRAD. 
Herr  Holtzmann 

[421 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

Enter  HOLTZMANN.     CONRAD  goes  out. 

HOLTZMANN    (bowing  quietly). 
We  have  a  majority  of  twenty  votes,  Baron.     Here 
are  the  final  returns.     (Hands  telegram  to  RICHARD.) 

RICHARD. 
Official? 

HOLTZMANN. 

Virtually.  As  your  co-worker,  Baron,  allow  me  to 
offer  my  congratulations.  (RICHARD  turns  away 
without  speaking.) 

BE  ATA. 

You  see  how  overcome  he  is,  dear  Herr  Holtzmann. 
Thank  you  with  all  my  heart.  (Gives  him  her  hand.) 

HOLTZMANN  (turning  to  leave  the  room). 
Good-afternoon,  Countess. 

RICHARD. 

Holtzmann!  (HOLTZMANN  pauses.)  You've  fought 
a  good  fight. 

HOLTZMANN. 
Oh,  as  to  that 

RICHARD. 
Thank  you.      (Shakes  his  hand.) 

HOLTZMANN. 

Don't  mention  it.  I  did  my  duty,  that's  all. 
(Bows  and  goes  out.) 

[431 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

Richard! — Isn't  the  struggle  over  yet? 

RICHARD. 

Beata — you  have  made  me  believe — in  spite  of  my- 
self— that — even  now — I  may  be  of  use  to  the  cause. 
I  shall  stick  to  my  work,  and  try  not  to  think. 

BEATA. 
It  may  not  be  as  hard  as  you  imagine. 

RICHARD. 

Perhaps  not.  But  when  the  blow  falls — if  it 
falls— 

BEATA. 
We'll  laugh— 

RICHARD. 
And  meanwhile 

BEATA. 
We'll  live!      (They  clasp  each  other9 1  hands.) 

CURTAIN. 


[44] 


ACT  II 


ACT   II 

The  same  scenery  as  in  thejlrst  act.  The  drawing-room 
is  brightly  lit,  the  curtain  in  the  opening  at  back  of  stage 
drawn  back,  showing  two  other  apartments,  also  brilliantly 
lit.  In  the  nearest  one  a  group  of  gentlemen  are  at 
the  billiard-table.  In  the  third  room  the  rest  of  the 
guests  have  just  left  the  table.  For  some  minutes 
BEATA  is  seen  among  them.  BRACHTMANN,  PRINCE 
USINGEN  and  VON  BERKELWITZ-GRUNHOF  are  just 
coming  out  of  the  billiard-room,  talking  together. 

BRACHTMANN. 

(Coming  forward  with  USINGEN.)  Prince,  I  want 
a  word  with  you  later — an  important  matter. 

PRINCE. 
And  I  want  a  word  with  you. 

BRACHTMANN. 
On  the  same  subject,  probably. 

PRINCE. 
Perhaps. 

[47] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

VON  BERKELWITZ  (looking  about  him). 
Deuced  fine — magnificent !     You've  got  to  come  up 
to  town  to  see  this  kind  of  thing. 

BRACHTMANN. 

How  is  it  we  never  see  you  in  the  Reichstag  nowa- 
days, my  dear  fellow? 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 

What's  a  man  to  do?  I'm  a  country  squire — I've 
got  to  work — and  besides  I'm  too  poor  to  live  in  town. 
A  man  has  got  to  make  a  show  here — keep  up  ap- 
pearances— I — hang  it,  that  champagne's  gone  to  my 
head — what  was  I  going  to  say?  Oh,  yes:  well,  you 
see,  I've  got  four  boys  growing  up;  one  is  in  the 
Rathenow  Hussars — crack  regiment,  you  know — I 
always  look  out  for  that  sort  of  thing — but  costs  like 
the  devil!  The  second  is  with  the  Pacific  squadron 
on  board  the  Princess  William.  He  doesn't  cost  as 
much  except  when  he's  ashore.  The  third  is  to  study 
forestry,  and  just  now  he's  with  his  rifle-corps.  The 
fourth  is  at  college — Bonn — belongs  to  all  the  most 
expensive  clubs — but  smart,  deuced  smart!  That's 
the  chief  thing.  I  expect  all  four  to  make  their  liv- 
ing out  of  the  state,  but  meanwhile  they're  a  con- 
founded expense  to  me.  You've  no  idea  what  it  costs 
to  keep  Oscar  alone  in  white  gloves.' 
[48] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

PRINCE   (to  BRACHTMANN). 

And  these  are  the  sources  of  German  statesman^ 
ship! 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 
What  did  you  say,  Prince? 

PRINCE. 

Nothing,  nothing. 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 

Not  that  we  can't  give  you  as  good  a  dinner  as 
you'll  get  here.  But  as  to  keeping  up  a  country- 
seat  and  a  town  house  and  a  shooting-box  and  a 
racing-stable — why,  it's  out  of  the  question.  I've 
had  to  mortgage  my  place — and  the  men's  wages — 
coming  round  every  Saturday!  well — well — I  tell  my 
boys  —  rich  marriages  —  that's  the  cure.  And  they 
ought  to,  by  gad  !  Good-looking  fellows,  you  under- 
stand. What  the  deuce  are  we  Prussian  noblemen 
for,  if  the  state  doesn't  provide  for  us  ?  Just  answer 
me  that! 

PRINCE  (who  has  been  studying  the  pictures). 
You   ought   to   ask   the   Socialists   that,   Herr   von 
Berkelwitz — ask  it  in  the  Reichstag,  you  know.     It 
would  be  rather  effective.      (Turns  back  to  the  pict- 
ures.)    A  capital  Sustermans. 
[49] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BRACHTMANN   (smiling). 
After  all,  we're  all  looking  out  for  ourselves. 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 

And  how  have  we  succeeded?  What  have  we 
landed  proprietors  accomplished?  Oh,  we  can  all 
talk  loud  enough;  but  when  it  comes  to  action,  there 
we  stand  with  our  hands  in  our  pockets. 

PRINCE. 

(Who  is  turning  over  photograph-albums  on  the 
table.)  Other  people's  pockets. 

BRACHTMANN  (laughing). 
Prince — Prince ! 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 

(In  a  low  tone,  to  BRACHTMANN.)  I  say,  is  that 
fellow  making  fun  of  us? 

BRACHTMANN. 

He's  ten  times  more  of  a  Conservative  than  either 
of  us. 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 
He  talks  like  a  Radical. 

PRINCE   (in  a  startled  tone). 
Oh,  the  devil ! 

BRACHTMANN. 
What's  the  matter? 

[50] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

PRINCE. 
Isn't  this  the  Countess's  writing-table? 

BRACHTMANN. 
Yes. 

PRINCE. 

Come  here  a  moment,  will  you,  and  just  glance 
discreetly  over  these  papers.  Do  you  notice  any- 
thing? (BRACHTMANN  shrugs  his  shoulders.)  I 
mean  among  the  newspapers. 

BRACHTMANN  (in  a  low  voice,  much  agitated). 
The  devil! — That  was  what  I  wanted  to  speak  to 
you  about.     {He  points  to  one  of  the  papers.) 

PRINCE. 
Ah — they've  sent  you  one  too? 

BRACHTMANN. 

In  the  same  wrapper,  addressed  in  the  same  hand. 
An  hour  ago,  just  as  I  left  the  house.  I  suppose 
they  haven't  had  time  to  look  at  the  last  post  here. 

PRINCE. 

(Taking  up  the  paper  and  looking  at  the  wrapper.) 
Do  you  know,  I've  half  a  mind 

BRACHTMANN. 

No,  no,  Prince — can't  be  done. 
T51  1 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

PRINCE. 

I  know  it  can't,  my  dear  Baron.  That's  the  very 
reason. — Don't  our  political  opponents  say  that  prop- 
erty is  theft?  Why  not  reverse  the  axiom,  and • 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 
What  the  deuce ? 

PRINCE. 

Why,  instead  of  putting  our  hands  into  other  peo- 
ple's pockets,  we  might  put  other  people's  property 
into  ours. 

BRACHTMANN. 
Prince,  we  all  know  your  way 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 

If  your  Highness  has  made  yourself  sufficiently 
witty  at  our  expense,  perhaps  you'll  explain  what  this 
is?  (Pointing  to  the  paper.) 

PRINCE. 

This,  my  dear  Herr  von  Berkelwitz,  is  a  copy  of 
the  "  Lengenfeld  News,"  the  Socialist  organ 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 
Faugh!     How  can  you  touch  it? 

PRINCE. 

Well,  it  touches  us,  and  rather  nearly,  as  you'll  see. 
[52] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

VON  BERKELWITZ 
Why,  what's  up? 

PRINCE. 

(Taking  a  newspaper  out  of  his  pocket.)  Look 
here— 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 
That's  the  same  as  the  other? 

PRINCE. 

Precisely.  I  brought  it  with  me  on  your  account. 
You  will  find  in  it  an  interesting  report  of  a  meeting 
of  Socialist  electors.  Do  me  the  favour  to  read  the 
passage  which  they  have  thoughtfully  marked  for  our 
benefit. 

VON  BERKELWITZ  (reading). 

"It  is  seldom  that  the  honourable  gentlemen  of 
the  Right,  the  self-constituted  guardians  of  public 
morality,  give  us  an  opportunity  to  see  what  goes  on 
behind  the  scenes,  in  the  gilded  saloons  to  which  the 
man  in  the  street  may  not  presume  to  penetrate  " — 
confound  their  insolence ! — "  it  is  not  often  that  we 
get  a  hint  of  what  goes  on  behind  their  silken  bed- 
curtains  " — h'm,  I  wish  they  could  see  what  I  .sleep 
on! 

PRINCE. 
Go  on. 

[53] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

VON   BERKELWITZ    (reading). 

"  But  now  and  then  a  happy  accident  yields  us 
an  edifying  glimpse  of  their  private  histories.  And, 
if  I  might  venture  to  speak  openly,  I  could  give  you 
such  a  glimpse  into  the  private  life  of  the  honourable 
member  from  Lengenfeld,  and  into  his  relations  with 
the  friend  whose  seat  in  the  Reichstag  he  has  taken — 
the  confiding  friend  who,  instead  of  keeping  watch  in 
his  own  house,  has  been  travelling  from  place  to  place, 
canvassing  for  the  honourable  member.  (Laugh- 
ter. Prolonged  cheering.)"  Lengenfeld?  Lengen 
— why,  that  is  Volkerlingk's  district.  (BRACHTMANN 
nods  affirmatively.) 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 

And  the  friend — the  friend  who ?     (He  breaks 

off,  and  points  vaguely  to  the  room.     BRACHTMANN 
nods  again.)     The  deuce! 

BRACHTMANN. 

On  account  of  the  party  I  suppose  we  shall  have 
to  take  some  notice  of  this. 

PRINCE. 

Kellinghausen  evidently  doesn't  know  of  it  yet. 
But  Volkerlingk  does.  I  watched  him. 

BRACHTMANN. 

The  Countess  is  not  well.     Who  is  the  proper  per- 
son to  take  that  paper  away  before  she  sees  it? 
[54] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

PRINCE   (smiling). 
Well,  frankly,  I  should  say  Volkerlingk 

BRACHTMANN. 
You  don't  mean 

PRINCE  (still  smiling). 
I  don't  mean  anything. 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 

Gentlemen,  I'm  only  a  plain  country  squire,  but  I 
should  like  to  suggest  that  the  morals  of  our  hostess 
are  hardly  a  subject  for  discussion. 

PRINCE. 

Morals?  Morals?  What  do  morals  signify? 
They  were  only  invented  for  the  preservation  of  the 
race. 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 
That's  over  my  head,  your  Highness. 

PRINCE. 

It's  simple  enough.  Mankind  is  bound  to  go  on 
reproducing  itself — that's  its  fundamental  instinct. 
Morality  was  invented  to  keep  the  strain  pure.  If 
it  ceases  to  accomplish  that  purpose,  it  had  better 
abdicate  in  favour  of  immorality.  That's  all. 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 

I'll  be  hanged  if  I  understand  a  single  word. 
[551 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

PRINCE. 

We  all  know  the  old  families  wouldn't  have  sur- 
vived till  now  if  the  stock  hadn't  been  renewed — 
surreptitiously,  so  to  speak — by 

BRACHTMANN. 
Really,  Prince — really 

PRINCE. 

My  dear  Brachtmann,  it's  all  very  well  for  you  to 
look  shocked.  Your  family  hasn't  had  to  resort  to 
such  expedients:  your  patent  of  nobility  isn't  more 
than  two  hundred  years  old.  But  my  people  have 
been  misbehaving  since  the  time  of  Lewis  the  Pious. 
Look  at  the  result — look  at  me.  Jaw  prognathous — • 
frontal  bone  asymmetrical — ears  abnormal — all  the 
symptoms  of  a  decaying  race.  Thanks  to  several 
centuries  of  inbreeding,  I  must  go  through  life  a 
degenerate,  and  I  assure  you  I  haven't  any  talent 
for  it.  If  only  I  could  marry  a  healthy  dairy-maid ! 
Under  such  circumstances,  do  you  wonder  one  loses 
one's  respect  for  morality?  What  if  two  people  in 
this  house  have  followed  the  dictates  of  their  tem- 
perament ? 

BRACHTMANN. 

Prince,  von  Berkelwitz  is  right.  As  long  as  we're 
in  the  house  ourselves,  we'll  postpone  any  discussion 
of  its  inmates. 

[56] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

PRINCE. 

As  you  please.  (RICHARD  VOLKERLINGK  is  seen 
approaching.  The  PRINCE  glances  toward  him.) 
Which  won't  prevent  my  feeling  the  sincerest  sym- 
pathy for  our  friend  there.  His  phenomenal  self- 
possession  is  enough  to  confirm  my  suspicions. 

Enter  RICHARD. 

RICHARD. 

I've  been  looking  for  you  everywhere,  Brachtmann. 
I  want  to  shake  hands  and  tell  you  how  glad  I  am 
to  be  under  your  orders  again. 

BRACHTMANN. 

We  won't  talk  of  being  under  my  orders,  my  dear 
Volkerlingk.  You  know  how  badly  we  need  you, 
and  how  anxious  we  are  to  have  you  take  the  lead 
in  the  coming  debate.  (RICHARD  bows.)  I  suppose 
we  may  count  on  your  speaking  on  the  Divorce  Bill 
next  Friday? 

RICHARD  (hesitating). 
Why — I  had  hardly  expected 

BRACHTMANN. 

It's  the  very  thing  we  want  of  you.  According  to 
the  Socialists,  a  man  and  his  wife  are  no  more  bound 
to  each  other  than  a  pair  of  cuckoos.  We  need  a 
speaker  of  your  eloquence  and  your  convictions  to 
proclaim  the  sanctity  of  the  marriage-bond. 
[57] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 

But  I  hardly  know  if  I  should  have  time  to  get 
my  facts  together.  And  besides —  {He  draws 
BRACHTMANN  aside  and  continues  in  a  low  tone.) 
An  hour  or  two  ago  I  received  a  copy  of  a  speech 
that  a  fellow  called  Meixner  has  been  making  against 
me.  The  man  is  a  former  secretary  of  mine,  turned 

Socialist 

BRACHTMANN. 

Ah — Meixner  was  your  secretary? 

RICHARD. 
You  knew  of  this? 

BRACHTMANN. 

My  dear  Volkerlingk,  don't  you  see  that  after  such 
an  attack  it's  doubly  important  that  you  should  speak 
on  this  very  question?  As  for  the  party,  I  think  I 
may  say  in  its  name  that  our  asking  you  to  do  so  is 
equivalent  to  a  vote  of  confidence. 

RICHARD. 

Thanks,  Brachtmann.  I  believe  you're  right.  My 
refusal  might  be  misinterpreted. 

BRACHTMANN  (turning  toward  the  others). 
We  were  speaking  of  this  when  you  joined  us.     We 
have  all  received  copies  of  the  paper. 
[58] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD  (to  the  group). 

Then  I  must  apologise  for  not  having  mentioned 
the  matter;  bat  I  was  waiting  to  bring  it  before  you 
in  committee.  It  seems  to  be  a  question  of  personal 
spite,  for  my  son  has  received  the  paper  too. 

BRACHTMANN. 
And  Madame  von  Volkerlingk? 

RICHARD. 
My  wife?     Why  do  you  ask? 

BRACHTMANN. 

Look  at  this.  (Leads  RICHARD  to  the  writing-table 
and  points  to  the  paper.  RICHARD  starts,  but  controls 
himself  instantly.) 

PRINCE. 

We  were  just  wondering  how  we  could  get  rid  of 
the  thing  before  it  is  discovered,  and  we  had  reluc- 
tantly decided  that  none  of  us  is  sufficiently  intimate 
here  to  tamper  with  the  Countess's  papers.  Now,  if 
you,  my  dear  Baron — as  an  old  friend  of  the  family 
— knowing  how  important  it  is  to  spare  her  any  ex- 
citement  

RICHARD  (looking  at  him  sharply). 
There  is  only  one  person  entitled  to  remove  that 
paper,    and    that    is    Count    Kellinghausen.     I    will 
speak  to  him  at  once. 

[59] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

PRINCE  (aside). 
Irreproachable ! 

BRACHTMANN. 

My  dear  Volkerlingk,  for  heaven's  sake  leave 
Kellinghauscn  out  of  the  question ! 

RICHARD. 

How  can  I? 

BRACHTMANN. 

I  have  been  in  politics  long  enough  to  take  such 
incidents  philosophically.  But  Kellinghausen,  easy- 
going as  he  is,  strikes  me  as  the  kind  of  man  who 
might  make  an  ass  of  himself  in  such  an  emergency. 
If  he  loses  his  head  he  may  do  the  party  an  incal- 
culable amount  of  harm;  whereas,  if  we  can  keep 
this  thing  from  him,  it  will  blow  over  in  a  week,  and 
nobody  be  any  the  worse  for  it. 

RICHARD. 

But  you  forget  that  I  am  as  much  involved  in  this 
as  Kellinghausen.  It  is  impossible  that  I  should 
stand  aside  and  allow  any  reflection  to  be  cast  on 

— er 

BRACHTMANN. 

You  are  quite  right.     But  wait  a  moment.     You 
said  you  meant  to  bring  the  matter  up  in  committee, 
which  is  undoubtedly  the  proper  way  of  dealing  with 
[60] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

it.     The  committee  meets  the  day  after  to-morrow; 
and  all  I  ask  is  that  you  should  say  nothing  till  then. 

RICHARD. 

And  suppose  I  agree  to  that — what  becomes  of  this 
paper?  (Pointing  to  the  writing-table.)  What  if  the 
Countess  finds  it? 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 

Gentlemen,  I'm  only  a  plain  country  squire,  and  I 
haven't  your  refinements  of  conscience.  (He  takes 
the  paper,  tears  it  up  and  throws  it  into  the  waste- 
paper  basket.  BRACHTMANN  and  the  PRINCE  laugh.) 

VON  BERKELWITZ. 

After  which  act  of  felony  I  suppose  I  had  better 
make  my  escape.  (Shakes  hands  with  the  others 
and  goes  out.) 

BRACHTMANN. 
Then  it's  understood  that,  in  the  interests  of  the 

party,  you  will 

PRINCE. 
'Sh.     Here  is  our  host. 

KELLINGHAUSEN  enters. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Ah,  there  you  are,  Richard!     My  dear  fellow,  I've 
been  hunting  for  you  high  and  low.     I  was  actually 
[61  | 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

reduced  to  asking  Madame  von  Volkerlingk  where 
you  were.  "  My  dear  Count,"  she  said,  "  it's  fifteen 
years  since  I've  known  where  my  husband  was." 
Nice  reputation  you've  got!  Well,  now  I've  run  you 
to  earth,  sit  down  and  let's  have  a  talk.  {To  the 
others.)  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  say  two  words 
to  him  yet. 

PRINCE. 
My  dear  Brachtmann,  shall  we ? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

No,  no;  don't  run  off.  Richard  and  I  have  no 
secrets.  Let  us  take  possession  of  this  quiet  corner. 
(To  CONRAD,  who  is  passing  with  a  tray  of  refresh- 
ments.) Conrad,  what  have  you  got  there?  Lion 
brew  from  the  wood,  eh? 

CONRAD. 
Yes,  your  Excellency. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

That's  what  we  always  had  at  Bismarck's.  H'm 
— in  those  days  there  was  a  power  in  the  land.  It 
weighed  on  us  rather  heavily  at  times,  but  we  were 
none  the  worse  for  it.  Your  health,  Richard,  my 
dear  fellow !  Gentlemen,  your  healths !  How  deuced 
quiet  you  all  are!  You  look  as  if  I'd  invited  you  to 
my  own  funeral.  Good  Lord,  if  you  knew  how  glad 
[62] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

I  am  to  have  got  the  Reichstag  off  my  shoulders! — 
The  other  day,  down  at  the  polls,  I  said  to  one  of 
our  Lengenf eld  peasants :  "  My  dear  friend — " 
(they're  all  our  dear  friends  at  election-time;  we  even 
have  to  put  up  with  being  their  dear  friends).  "  My 
dear  friend,"  said  I,  "  I  hope  you're  going  to  vote 
for  my  successor  ?  " — "  What  will  he  give  me  for  it  ?  " 
says  he.  "  What  will  the  Socialist  give  you?  "  said 
I.  "  The  Socialist  will  call  you  all  names,  and  I 
like  to  hear  you  called  names.  It  makes  me  laugh," 
the  fellow  answered.  And  he  was  right.  We  must 
amuse  the  masses  and  they'll  love  us.  Circus-riding, 
my  dear  friends — that's  all  the  nobility  are  good  for ! 

BRACHTMANN. 

We  shall  miss  your  cheerful  view  of  life,  my  dear 
Kellinghausen. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

H'm — that's  about  the  only  epitaph  I  can  hope  for. 
Ha !  ha !— Well— I  say,  Richard,  what  sort  of  a  fel- 
low is  that  Meixner?  (The  others  look  up  quickly.) 
Wasn't  he  your  secretary  at  one  time? 

RICHARD. 
Yes. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
How  long  ago? 

[631 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 
It  must  be  ten  or  twelve  years. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Well,  he  has  certainly  profited  by  the  training  you 
gave  him.  He's  raving  against  you  like  a  madman. 

RICHARD. 
Did  you  happen  to  run  across  him? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Heaven  forbid! 

RICHARD. 
Did  you  hear  what  he  said? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Yes ;  Holtzmann  told  me  about  him.  And  I  Ve  had 
a  lot  of  his  speeches  and  proclamations  sent  to  me. 
Capital  stuff  for  lighting  the  fire.  Well,  thank  the 
Lord,  it's  all  over. 

RICHARD. 
I  wish  I  knew  how  to  thank  you,  Michael 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Nonsense.     None  of  that.     By  the  way,  I  picked 
up  a  pamphlet  in  the  train  to-day — "  The  Ordeal " 
or  some  such  name.     Holtzmann  tells  me  that  Norbert 
wrote  it.     Is  that  true?     (RICHARD  nods.) 
[641 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BRACHTMANN. 
Ah,  indeed — your  son  wrote ? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

I  say,  Richard,  you  give  him  a  long  rein,  don't 
you? 

RICHARD. 

My  dear  Michael,  the  chief  thing  I  have  to  thank 
my  father  for  is  that  he  gave  me  one.  I  vowed  long 
ago  that  Norbert  should  have  as  much  freedom  as  I 
had. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Well,  we  shall  have  to  take  the  young  scamp  in 
hand  before  long. 

RICHARD. 

I  wish  you  would.  I  should  like  to  know  who  has 
put  him  up  to  this.  He  won't  tell  me. 

Enter  BEATA,  with  BARON  LUDWIG  VON  VOLKERLINGK. 

BEATA. 

May  we  join  you?  Don't  let  us  break  up  your 
party. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

(Advancing  toward  the  other  men.)  Will  you 
allow  me ? 

BEATA  (to  MICHAEL,  in  a  low  tone). 
Well,  are  you  enjoying  yourself? 
[65] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Immensely,  dear,  immensely. 

BEATA. 

Did  you  like  the  way  I  arranged  the  seats  at  table  ? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Couldn't  have  been  better.  The  brothers  not  too 
close  together,  yet  near  enough  to  talk.  Now  you 
must  follow  it  up,  and  get  them  to  make  friends — eh  ? 

BEATA. 

That  is  what  I've  come  for.  (To  RICHARD.)  My 
dear  Volkerlingk,  I  want  to  speak  to  you. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

(To  RICHARD,  as  he  approaches.)  Mind  you  obey 
orders,  now!  (Joins  the  others.) 

RICHARD. 
I  am  glad  you  are  not  too  tired,  Beata. 

BEATA. 

I've  been  growing  stronger  every  day  since  the  elec- 
tions. But  you  must  take  some  notice  of  Leonie, 
Richard.  She  is  saying  things. 

RICHARD. 

Let  her.     It's  her  specialty. 
[66] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

Every  one  knows  that  she  never  comes  here,  and 
her  being  here  to-night  is  making  people  talk. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

(Approaching  his  brother,  evidently  at  KELLING- 
HAUSEN'S  instigation.)  Ah,  here  are  the  two  friends 
talking  together. 

BEATA. 

(Looking  from  one  brother  to  the  other.)  And  the 
two  enemies,  too — thank  heaven! 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

The  Countess  is  right,  Richard.  It  was  foolish  of 
us  not  to  speak  to  each  other. 

RICHARD. 
My  dear  Ludwig,  perhaps  we  hadn't  enough  to  say. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Or  too  much! 

RICHARD. 
Possibly.     (To  BEATA.)     But,  Countess 

BEATA  (turning  to  join  the  others). 
No,  no.     I  am  going  to  leave  you  two  together. 
(She  moves  away.) 

RICHARD. 

Why  do  you  look  at  her  so  strangely? 
[671 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Strangely?     What  do  you  mean? 

RICHARD. 
You  begrudge  me  this  friendship,  Ludwig. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Do  I?  Perhaps.  You  must  remmber  that  I  am 
very  lonely.  I  had  hoped  that  your  house  might 

RICHARD. 
My  house?     With  Leonie ? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Yes — your  friend  is  different  from  Leonie. 

RICHARD. 

You  needn't  envy  me,  Ludwig.  My  friend  is  a 
dying  woman.  Every  day  I  ask  myself  if  I  shall 
ever  .see  her  again. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

My  dear  Richard,  the  woman  lives  in  a  thousand 
energies.  She  will  survive  us  both. 

RICHARD. 
God  grant  it! 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
But — be  on  your  guard. 

[68] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 
What  do  you  mean? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

(Glancing  at  KELLINGHAUSEN.)  Can  we  find  a 
quiet  corner  somewhere?  (He  takes  RICHARD'S  arm 
and  they  go  toward  the  other  room.) 

Enter  LEONIE,  on  NORBERT'S  arm. 

LEONIE   (meeting  the  brothers). 
What  a  touching  spectacle!     Look,  Norbert! 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Don't  detain  us,  Leonie.  We're  going  to  have  our 
photograph  taken.  (He  and  RICHARD  go  out.) 

LEONIE   (advancing  toward  the  front). 
How    enchanting!     And    Beata    as    the    angel    of 
peace !     Quite   a    new   role   for  you,    isn't   it,    dear  ? 
But  you're  so  versatile! 

BEATA. 

Dear  Leonie,  find  fault  with  me  when  I  sow  dis- 
cord, but  praise  me  when  I  make  peace. 

LEONIE. 

« 

Do  you  care  so  much  for  praise? 

BEATA. 
Don't  you? 

[69] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

LEONIE. 

Oh,  no  one  ever  praises  me.  I  suppose  I  don't 
know  how  to  play  my  cards.  Norbert,  please  have 
the  carriage  called. 

NORBERT. 
Very  well,  mother.      (Goes  out.) 

LEONIE. 

Ah,  Prince — good-evening!  (He  kisses  her  hand.) 
How  is  it  we  never  see  you  at  our  missionary  meet- 
ings ?  Her  Royal  Highness  wished  me  to  say  that 
she  counts  on  your  help.  Isn't  that  flattering  ?  (To 
the  others.)  The  Prince  is  one  of  us,  you  know. 
He  serves  the  cause  of  religion  faithfully 

PRINCE. 

And  in  poverty  of  spirit.  That's  my  special  merit, 
you  know,  Baroness. 

BRACHTMANN  (aside  to  the  PRINCE). 
You  reprobate! 

LEONIE. 

But  pray  don't  let  me  disturb  you,  for  I  must 
really  be  off.  My  carriage  is  waiting,  and  my  coach- 
man is  so  cross.  We're  all  the  slaves  of  our  car- 
riages. (To  KELLINGHAUSEN.)  It  has  been  so  de- 
lightful— dear  Beata  is  such  a  wonderful  hostess. 
Our  great  stateswoman  knows  so  well  how  to  keep 
[701 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

her  party  in  hand.  Willingly  or  unwillingly,  she 
makes  them  all  come  into  line;  don't  you,  Beata, 
dear  ? 

BEATA. 

I'm  afraid  you  are  among  the  unwilling  to-night, 
Leonie. 

LEONIE. 
Oh,  I'm  not  as  adaptable  as  some  of  your  friends. 

BRACHTMANN  (aside  to  the  PRINCE). 
Do  you  hear  those  amenities? 

PRINCE  (to  BRACHTMANN). 

The  Baroness  is  dispensing  Christian  charity  sprin- 
kled  with  arsenic.  Let's  efface  ourselves.  (They 
move  quietly  into  the  background.) 

LEONIE. 

(To  KELLINGHAUSEN,  with  whom  she  has  been 
talking.)  No,  no,  my  dear  Count — you  mustn't  think 
of  it.  Norbert  will  put  me  in  my  carriage.  And 
meanwhile,  I  want  to  have  a  little  chat  with  dear 
Beata.  We  always  have  so  many  things  to  say  to 
each  other. 

KELLINGHAUSEN   (kissing  her  hand). 
At   your   orders,  my   dear   friend.     I'll   draw  the 
curtain    to    protect    your   tete-a-tete.       (He   draws    the 
curtain  between  the  columns  and  goes  out.) 
[71] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

LEONIE. 

How  wonderfully  well  you  look  to-night,  Beata! 
Not  in  the  least  like  a  prospective  grandmother. 

BEATA. 

Why,  as  to  that,  Leonie,  it  looks  as  though  you 
and  I  were  to  be  made  grandmothers  on  the  same  day. 

LEONIE. 

Ah,  really?  Well,  Ellen  is  a  delightful  child. 
Where  is  she,  by  the  way?  You  don't  seem  to  care 
to  let  her  be  seen  in  your  neighbourhood  on  such 
occasions. 

BEATA. 

Seen?  In  my  neighbourhood?  You  have  an  odd 
way  of  putting  things.  But  I  believe  you  had  some- 
thing to  say  to  me. 

LEONIE. 

I  know  I  oughtn't  to  keep  you  from  your  other 
guests,  but  it's  such  a  pleasure  to  have  you  to  my- 
self.— I  wonder  what  has  become  of  Norbert? — I 
must  say,  Beata,  I  can't  help  admiring  your  self- 
possession.  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  so  uncon- 
cerned. 

BEATA. 

What  should  I  be  concerned  about? 
[72] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

LEONIE. 

Why,  you  don't  mean — ?  I  should  almost  think 
you —  But  I  don't  know  how  to  express  myself. 
It's  so  very  painful. — There  are  such  dreadful  people 
in  the  world. 

BEATA. 
Are  there? 

LEONIE. 

This  former  secretary  of  Richard's,  for  instance, 
who  has  made  such  a  shocking  speech  against  him. 
You've  received  a  copy,  of  course? 

BEATA. 
Not  that  I  know  of. 

LEONIE  (drawing  a  paper  from  her  pocket). 
Ah — I  brought  mine  with  me.     Perhaps  it  might 
interest  you. 

BEATA. 
Not  in  the  least,  my  dear. 

LEONIE. 
You  are  mentioned  in  it,  too. 

BEATA   (smiling). 
Really? 

LEONIE. 

Only  between  the  lines,  of  course. 
[73] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 
Between  the  lines?     What  do  you  mean? 

LEONIE. 

This  is  the  paragraph;  the  one  marked  with  a  blue 
pencil.  Don't  be  horrified.  It  will  make  you  laugh, 
of  course.  I  laughed  over  it  myself.  (BEATA  takes 
the  paper,  looking  firmly  at  LEONIE  as  she  does  so. 
She  reads  the  paper,  throws  it  aside,  and  looks  at  LEONIE 
again,  without  speaking.)  Good  heavens,  how  pale 
you  are !  I  didn't  realise —  Shall  I  get  you  a  glass 
of  water? 

BEATA. 

No,  thanks.  (Controlling  herself  with  an  effort.) 
Does  Richard  know  of  this  ? 

LEONIE. 
Oh,  yes.     Doesn't  Michael? 

BEATA. 

Certainly  not. — He  would  have —  Will  you  let 
me  have  this  paper? 

LEONIE. 
To  show  Michael? 

BEATA. 
Naturally.     In  a  matter  involving  his  honour 

LEONIE. 

You  don't  met»n  to  make  a  scandal? 
[74] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

What  do  you  call  a  scandal?  Haven't  you  made 
one  in  bringing  me  this? 

LEONIE. 
I  mean  that  your  husband  might 

BEATA. 
My  husband  will  do  as  he  sees  fit. 

LEONIE. 
You  are  very  sure  of  yourself. 

BEATA. 

My  dear  Leonie,  remember  that  you  are  m  my 
house. 

LEONIE. 

My  dear  Beata,  we  are  always  in  each  other's 
houses;  we  can't  meet  at  the  street  corners,  like 
servants. 

BEATA. 
You  are  right.     Say  what  you  were  going  to  say. 

LEONIE. 
Oh,  I  have  held  my  tongue  so  long ! 

BEATA. 

Why  have  you,  if  you  had  anything  to  say? 
[75] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

LEONIE. 

Listen,  Beata.  I  am  not  going  to  discuss  the  rela- 
tions between  my  husband  and  yourself.  It's  a  sub- 
ject that  no  longer  interests  me.  But  it  was  you  who 
took  him  away  from  me,  and  when  I  found  you  had 
taken  him,  I  turned  to  my  boy  instead.  Then  you 
took  him  too.  Now  I  have  nothing  left — nothing  but 
my  position  in  society,  which  I  have  built  up  slowly, 
year  by  year,  by  my  own  efforts,  as  you  know.  I 
am  in  the  Princess  Agnes 's  most  intimate  set,  I  am 
patroness  of — but  all  this  doesn't  interest  you.  But 
how  have  I  accomplished  it?  Simply  by  keeping  my 
eyes  shut  and  appearing  to  sanction  your  friendship 
with  Richard. — And  now,  if  you  persist  in  dragging 
your  husband  in,  there  will  be  a  scandal,  and  I  shall 
have  to  sue  for  a  divorce;  and  that  will  be  excessively 
unpleasant  for  us  all.  Don't  you  agree  with  me? 

BEATA. 

I  might  say  so  many  things  in  reply. — In  the  first 
place,  whatever  I  have  taken  was  never  really  yours. 
— But  no  matter.  I  will  only  ask  you  one  thing: 
have  you  thought  of  Ellen  and  Norbert? 

LEONIE. 

Oh,  Ellen  and  Norbert!     I've  no  objection  to  the 
match,  none  whatever — but  it's  your  scheme,  not  mine, 
[761 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

and  you  can't  expect  me  to  be  particularly  enthusi- 
astic about  it.  But  I  should  think  it  would  be  one 
more  reason  for  you  to  keep  quiet. 

BEATA. 

Then — if  you  don't  mean  to  do  anything — why 
did  you  bring  me  this? 

LEONIE  (with  irrepressible  triumph). 
Why  did  I   bring  it?     Because  I — (relapses  into 
her   usual   amiability) — I   thought   it   might   interest 
you,   and  you   see   I   was   not   mistaken.     Ah,   here 
comes  Norbert! 

Enter  NORBERT. 

NORBERT. 

I'm  sorry  to  have  kept  you,  mother.  The  carriage 
was —  (Startled.)  Why,  Aunt  Beata,  what's  the 
matter  ? 

BEATA  (making  an  effort  to  smile). 
Nothing,  Norbert,  dear. 

LEONIE. 

Well,  good-bye,  Beata.  Do  be  careful  of  your- 
self! I  should  be  so  sorry  to  think  I  had  done  any- 
thing to  excite  you.  Come,  Norbert,  you  must  put 
me  in  the  carriage,  and  then  you  can  come  back  to 
your  dear  aunt. 

[77] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

NORBERT. 

I  beg  your  pardon,  mother,  but  I  think  Aunt  Beata 
needs  me  now.  If  you'll  wait  for  me  a  moment  down- 
stairs  

LEONIE. 

What  did  I  say?  I  congratulate  you,  Beata! 
(She  goes  out  alone.) 

NORBERT. 
What  has  she  been  saying  to  you? 

BEATA. 
Oh,  she  was  right — so  right! 

NORBERT  (alarmed). 
Aunt  Beata! 

BEATA  (with  an  effort). 

Norbert — my  son — take  me  to  Ellen.  In  a  few 
minutes  I  shall  be  quite 

NORBERT. 

Come,  come —  (Leads  her  gently  out.  Sounds  of 
talk  and  laughter  come  from  the  inner  room.) 

Enter  KELLINGHAUSEN. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

(Putting    his    head    through    the    curtains.)      Ha! 
No    one    there?     Have    our    wives    made    way    with 
each  other?     (To  RICHARD,  who  has  followed  him.) 
[78] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

They're  not  so  deuced  fond  of  one  another. — I  say, 
old  man,  just  now,  when  I  was  talking  about  the 
elections,  why  did  you  all  put  on  that  air  of  states- 
manlike reserve?  Did  I  say  anything  out  of  the 
way? 

RICHARD. 
What  an  absurd  idea! 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

One  is  always  liable  to  make  an  ass  of  one's  self. 
I'm  not  conscious  of  having  blundered,  but — oh,  well, 
I  sha'n't  get  anything  out  of  you.  (Raising  the  cur- 
tain and  calling  out — )  Brachtmann  —  Usingen  — 
come  here  a  moment. 

RICHARD. 

Michael,  if  you  take  my  advice  we'll  drop  the  elec- 
tion for  the  present.  I  give  you  my  word  that  if 
anything  occurs  that  reflects  on  you 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

On  me?  Reflects  on  me?  What  on  earth  do  you 
mean?  I'm  thinking  of  the  party.  Our  business  is 
to  look  out  for  the  party. 

Enter    BRACHTMANN    and    the    PRINCE,    followed   a 
moment  or  two  later  by  NORBERT. 

BRACHTMANN. 

Hear,  hear!     But  what  are  you  talking  about? 
[79] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (to  NORBERT). 
Aha,    young    man,    where    have    you    come    from? 
Tea  in  the  school-room,  eh? 

NORBERT. 

Aunt  Beata  was  not  very  well,  Uncle  Michael. 
(RICHARD  starts.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Ah? 

NORBERT. 

She  is  feeling  better  now.  She  will  be  here  in  a 
few  minutes. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

That's  good — that's  good.  By  the  way,  Master 
Norbert,  we're  going  to  put  you  through  your  paces. 
How  about  this  so-called  "Ordeal,"  eh?  Do  you 
own  up  to  it? 

NORBERT. 

I'm  proud  to,  Uncle.  At  least,  no — not  so  very 
proud;  for  I've  found  out  lately  that  it's  all  been 
said  before,  a  thousand  times  better  than  I've  said  it. 

BRACHTMANN. 
And  also  by  a  member  of  the  Conservative  party? 

NORBERT. 
Well — no — not  exactly. 

[80] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BRACHTMANN. 
Ah — but  that's  the  point. 

NORBERT. 

I  beg  your  pardon,  Herr  von  Brachtmann,  I 
thought  truth  was  truth,  no  matter  who  uttered  it. 

PRINCE. 
What  is  truth?  said  Pilate. 

NORBERT. 

And  washed  his  hands.  We  also  wash  our  hands 
of  many  things,  your  Highness.  I  have  even  heard 
it  said  that  the  use  of  soap  and  water  is  the  only 
thing  that  distinguishes  us  from  the  masses.  But  no 
matter  how  much  washing  we  do,  we  can't  wash  off 
the  blood  we  have  shed  in  the  abuse  of  our  class- 
privileges. 

PRINCE  (to  RICHARD). 

Very  neatly  parried.     He  has  a  good  wrist. 

RICHARD. 

My  dear  Norbert,  will  you  give  your  venerable 
parent  a  hearing?  We  have  left  far  behind  us  many 
of  what  you  call  our  "  class-privileges  " ;  but  their 
traditional  spirit  still  survives.  And  that  spirit, 
whether  the  modern  world  condemns  it,  or  the. middle- 
classes  make  it  ridiculous  by  aping  it — that  spirit  is 
the  safeguard  of  our  order.  Believe  me,  Norbert, 
we  must  stand  or  fall  by  it. 
[81] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

NORBERT. 

Then  we  must  fall,  father. 

RICHARD. 

Possibly — even  probably.  But  meanwhile  the  one 
distinction  we  have  left  is  the  right  to  dispose  of 
our  lives.  When  a  nobleman  of  the  Italian  Renais- 
sance, or  a  young  blade  of  the  court  of  Louis  XIII., 
crossed  the  threshold  of  his  house,  he  was  never  sure 
of  re-entering  it  alive.  That  was  what  gave  him  his 
audacity,  his  splendid  indifference  to  danger.  To- 
day we  no  longer  stake  our  lives  so  lightly;  but  the 
fact  that  they  are  ours  to  stake  still  gives  its  keenest 
edge  to  living. 

THE  OTHERS. 

Hear!     Hear! 

NORBERT. 

My  dear  father,  you  have  given  us  an  admirable 
explanation  of  the  personal  view  of  death.  But  life 
is  not  a  personal  matter  at  all.  You  have  said  so 
often  enough.  Our  lives  belong  to  the  ideals  for 
which  we  fight,  they  belong  to  the  state  or  to  the 

race 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

And    how    about    our    personal    sense   of    honour? 
What  of  that,  Norbert?     Are  we  to  be  forbidden  to 
defend  with  our  lives  the  few  things  we  hold  sacred 
[82] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

on  earth?  May  we  no  longer  fall  upon  the  scoundrel 
who  assails  them?  You  will  hardly  convince  us  of 
that,  Norbert. 

RICHARD. 

Then  again,  Norbert,  there  may  be  cases — you  are 
too  young  to  have  foreseen  them,  but  they  exist — 
where  an  honourable  man  may  have  done  irreparable 
injury  to  another's  honour.  If  he  admits  his  guilt, 
and  satisfaction  is  demanded  of  him,  what  is  he  to 
do?  Is  he  to  run  away,  or  to  shelter  himself  behind 
the  law?  The  law,  which  was  made  to  protect  the 
honour  of  serfs !  Should  you  expect  that  of  him, 
Norbert? 

,  NORBERT. 

If  your  man  of  honour  admits  his  guilt,  and  is 
ready  to  pay  the  penalty,  let  him  be  his  own  judge. 

RICHARD. 

TT> 

NORBERT. 

But — I  beg  your  pardon,  father;  that  is  hardly 
the  point.  It  was  all  very  well  for  the  aristocracy 
to  make  its  own  laws  when  it  had  the  power  to  enforce 
them;  but  what  is  to  become  of  its  precious  "class- 
privileges  "  when  the  modern  world  laughs  at  them 
and  the  mob  refuses  to  recognise  them?  When  that 
day  comes,  I  don't  see  what  we  can  do  but  take  shelter 
behind  the  law. 

[83! 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

I  don't  understand  you,  Norbert.  Give  us  an 
instance. 

NORBERT. 

Nothing  easier,  Uncle  Michael.  What  do  you 
propose  to  do  with  the  scoundrel  who  has  been  in- 
sulting you  in  his  electioneering  speeches?  (There 
is  a  startled  movement  among  his  listeners.)  You 
don't  mean  to  challenge  himf  I  suppose? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
What  do  you ? 

NORBERT. 

Unless  you  treat  the  whole  matter  with  silent 
contempt — and  I  fancy  you'll  hardly  do  that — it 
seems  to  me  that  a  libel  suit  is  the  only  alternative. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Norbert — are  you  dreaming — or 

NORBERT. 
Why — Uncle  Michael — didn't  you  know? 

PRINCE. 
Now  you've  done  it,  young  man! 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Do  any  of  you  know  what  he's  driving  at  ? 
[84] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BRACHTMANN. 
Yes. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Richard,  what  does  this  mean?  What  is  going  on 
behind  my  back?  You  call  yourself  my  friend — 
why  have  you  kept  me  in  the  dark? 

RICHARD   (very  quietly). 

In  the  first  place,  dear  Michael,  we  only  heard  of 
the  business  an  hour  or  two  ago;  in  the  second  place 
(as  he  speaks,  BE  ATA  enters  from  behind),  I  am 
mixed  up  in  it  myself. 

KELLIXGHAUSEN. 

You?  In  a  slander  that  concerns  me?  (RICHARD 
nods  without  speaking.)  Then  there  was  all  the 

more  reason 

BRACHTMANN. 

My  dear  Kellinghausen,  the  fault  is  mine.  For 
the  sake  of  the  party,  I  asked  Volkerlingk  not  to — 

PRINCE  (suddenly  noticing  BEATA). 
H'm.     Perhaps    we    had    better —     (he    advances 
toward  BEATA).     My  dear  Countess 

BEATA  enters  quietly. 

BEATA. 

Don't  be  afraid.     I  know  what  you  are  speaking 
of.     I  know  all  about  it.     Michael,  if  these  gentle- 
[85] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

men  would  allow  us  to  talk  the  matter  over  by  our- 
selves  

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Thank  you,  my  dear.  But  I  think  you  had  better 
keep  out  of  it.  Richard  —  Brachtmann  —  if  you'll 
come  to  my  study (They  both  assent.) 

RICHARD  (approaching  BEATA). 
I  will  say  good-night,  Countess. 

BEATA. 

Good-night,  my  dear  Volkerlingk.  (Rapidly,  in  a 
low  voice,  as  he  bends  above  her  hand.)  Does  he 
know? 

RICHARD  (in  the  same  tone). 
Not  yet. 

BEATA  (aloud,  with  conventional  cordiality). 
I  shall  see  you  to-morrow?     (RICHARD  bows,  and 
follows  the  other  men  toward  the  door.) 

CURTAIN. 


[86] 


ACT  III 


ACT  III 

The  same  scene:  in  the  afternoon.  HOLTZMANN  is 
waiting.  Enter  KELLINGHAUSEN  in  hat  and  fur- 
lined  coat. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Ah,  Holtzmann — this  is  very  good  of  you.  I'm 
extremely  obliged  to  you  for  coming.  (Shakes  hands 
with  him.)  Sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting.  (Takes 
off  his  hat  and  coat.)  Sit  down — sit  down. — That  is, 
— perhaps  we'd  better —  Oh,  well,  my  wife's  not 
likely  to  come  in  just  now. — A  cigarette? 

HOLTZMANN. 
Thanks.     I  don't  smoke. 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (lighting  a  cigarette). 
You  remember  Meixner — the  fellow  who  gave  us 
such  a  lot  of  trouble  during  the  elections  ?  I  believe 
you  and  he  have  crossed  swords  once  or  twice  in  pub- 
lic; and  didn't  you  tell  me  that  you  knew  him  per- 
sonally? When  was  it  that  you  ran  across  him? 

HOLTZMANN. 

There  was  only  one  inn  in  the  village,  and  his  room 
and  mine  were  on  the  same  landing.     The  meeting 
[89] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

was  over  at  eleven,  and  I  went  to  bed  soon  after. 
About  midnight  in  walks  Meixner,  as  cool  as  you 
please,  and  sits  down  on  my  bed.  "  We  haven't  fin- 
ished that  argument  yet.  Let's  have  it  out  now,"  he 
said.  And  there  he  sat  till  six  in  the  morning. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

(Takes  a  copy  of  the  " Lengenfeld  News"  out  of  his 
pocket  and  glances  at  it.)  Did  that  happen  before 
or  after  the  twelfth  of  January? 

HOLTZMANN. 

It  happened  before  he  made  that  speech. 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (startled). 
What  ?       You  knew ? 

HOLTZMANN. 
Why — naturally. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Herr  Holtzmann,  we  were  in  the  train  together  for 
hours.  We  drove  together  for  miles.  I  have  always 
treated  you  as  a  friend.  Why  did  you  never  speak 
of  this?  (HOLTZMANN  remains  silent.)  Let  me  tell 
you  one  thing:  you  can't  put  me  off  with  a  shrug. 
If  you  think  you  can,  you  don't  know  me. 

[90] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

HOLTZMANN. 

I  beg  your  pardon,  Count  Kellinghausen — but  I 
must  remind  you  that  I  am  not  in  your  service. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

My  dear  Herr  Holtzmann,  you  are  known  as  one 
of  the  most  zealous  supporters  of  our  party.  Prob- 
ably you  attach  some  importance  to  that  fact.  Your 
silence  in  this  matter  surprises  me,  and  I  shall  not 
fail  to  draw  my  own  conclusions. 

HOLTZMANN   (rising). 

You  must  draw  what  conclusions  you  please,  sir. 
Personally  I  have  nothing  to  gain  by  serving  your 
party.  I  might  have  a  living  at  any  moment,  and  if 
I  have  preferred,  for  the  present,  to  devote  myself 
to  politics,  it  was  only  because  I  thought  I  could  be 
of  use  to  the  cause. 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (after  a  pause). 
I  have  offended  you.  You  must  make  allowances 
for  my  excitement — this  business  has  unnerved  me. 
(Holds  out  his  hand.)  Sit  down  again  and  let  me 
ask  you  a  question.  Has  this  Meixner  any  recog- 
nised standing  in  his  party,  or  is  he  merely  a 
hanger-on  ? 

HOLTZMANN. 

He  must  have  a  certain  standing,  since  he  is  their 
candidate  for  the  next  election. 
[91] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Ha!  ha!  A  nice  lot  they  are!  Well,  the  gentle- 
man has  given  us  his  measure  by  sending  copies  of 
this  paper  to  the  wives  of  the  men  he  attacks. 

HOLTZMANN. 

If  he  has  done  that,  sir,  can  you  guess  his  reasons  ? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
No.     Can  you? 

HOLTZMANN. 

Perhaps 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Well ? 

HOLTZMANN. 

I'm  sorry,  sir — but  I  can't  say  anything  more  just 
now. 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (rising). 
Good-day,  then,  Herr  Holtzmann. 

HOLTZMANN. 
My  respects  to  you,  sir.     (Goes  out.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN   (giving  way  to  his  rage). 
Hounds!      Brigands!      Damn    them!      All   tarred 
with  the  same  brush 

BEATA  enters. 
[92] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA  (quietly). 
Flying  into  a  passion  won't  mend  matters,  Michael. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

And  I  can't  make  you  out,  either.  Here  they  are, 
throwing  mud  at  us — calling  you  I  won't  say  what 
— and  you  stand  there  like — like —  Haven't  you  got 
any  blood  in  your  veins?  Don't  you  realise  what  it 
all  means? 

BEATA. 

I  haven't  much  strength  to  spare,  and  I  have  to 
economise  my  emotions. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Good  God — how  white  you  are !  Don't  mind  me — 
I'll  pull  myself  together.  We  won't  talk  of  the 
damned  thing  any  more. 

BEATA. 

It  will  be  the  first  time  in  twenty  years  that  we 
haven't  talked  over  what  you  had  on  your  mind. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

I  wish  to  heaven  I'd  never  told  you  of  it.     The 
devil  take  Leonie!     She  can't  hold  her  cursed  med- 
dling tongue;  Richard  ought  to  muzzle  her.     By  the 
way,  it's  strange  he  hasn't  shown  himself  to-day. 
[93] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

I  have  had  a  note  from  him.  He  asked  me  to  tell 
you  that  he  is  deep  in  his  speech.  He  is  coming  as 
soon  as  he  has  a  moment  to  spare. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

There  you  are  again !  Just  when  the  man  needs  a 
clear  head  for  the  great  work  that's  before  him,  he 
finds  himself  involved  in  this  filthy —  Ah,  well,  I'll 
have  the  dogs  by  the  throat  yet!  I'll  have  them 
howling  for  mercy! 

BEATA. 

Do  calm  yourself,  Michael.  Look — your  face  is 
all  on  fire.  You  know  it's  bad  for  you  to  excite 
yourself. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

There,  there — I'm  quiet  again.  Don't  I  always  do 
what  you  tell  me?  Ah,  if  I  hadn't  had  you  all  these 
years,  the  Lord  knows  what  would  have  become  of 

me! 

BEATA. 

Then,  on  the  whole,  I've  been — satisfactory? 

KELLINGHAUSEN    (laughing). 
That  sounds  as  if  you  were  asking  for  a  reference. 

BEATA. 

Perhaps  I  am.  I  want  to  have  one  to  show  in  case 
of  need. 

[94] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
And  when  do  you  expect  to  need  it? 

BEATA. 
Who  knows? 

Enter  CONRAD. 

CONRAD  (announcing). 
Baron  Brachtmann. 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (to  BEATA). 
Do  you  wish  to  see  him? 

BEATA. 
Yes. 

Enter  BRACHTMANN.     CONRAD  goes  out. 

BRACHTMANN. 

(Bows  to  KELLINGHAUSEN  and  kisses  BEATA'S 
hand.)  I  am  sorry  we  were  not  on  our  guard  yester- 
day, Countess.  Even  if  you  had  to  know  of  this 
stupid  business,  you  needn't  have  heard  of  it  till  it 
had  blown  over. 

BEATA. 

Don't   reproach   yourself,   Baron.     I    should  have 
been  sorry  to  miss  such  a  chance  of  enlarging  my 
knowledge  of  human  nature. 
[95] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BRACHTMANN. 

Well,  at  all  events,  I  beg  of  you  both  not  to  take 
it  too  seriously.  And  as  for  you,  my  dear  Kelling- 
hausen,  I  say  again  as  I've  said  before:  for  God's 
sake,  keep  out  of  the  courts. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Ah ? 

BRACHTMANN. 

Why,  my  dear  man,  haven't  I  been  accused  of 
arson  and  forgery?  Haven't  I  been  charged  with 
bribing  my  constituents  to  perjure  themselves — not  to 
speak  of  my  dodging  my  taxes,  and  other  sleight-of- 
hand  performances  ?  That's  merely  the  political  way 
of  poking  fun. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

H'm — your  digestion  must  be  stronger  than  mine. 
But  those  charges  concerned  no  one  but  yourself;  if 
I  stood  alone  in  this  business,  I  might  see  the  humour 
of  it.  But  let  them  beware  how  they  attack  my 
family!  Besides,  I've  taken  steps  already 

BRACHTMANN. 
What  have  you  done? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

I  got  hold  of  my  counsel  this  morning.     He  has 
made  out  a  retraction  which  the  scoundrel  is  to  sign. 
[96] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

If  he  won't  sign  it,  well  take  other  means.     He  is 
to  be  at  my  lawyer's  at  three  o'clock. 

BEATA  (starting  up). 
What?     To-day? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

To-day.  The  sooner  the  better.  By  the  way, 
what  time  is  it  ?  I  must  be  on  hand  myself.  Bracht- 
mann,  will  you  come  with  me? 

BRACHTMANN. 

I  was  going  to  propose  it.  (While  KELLING- 
HAUSEN puts  on  his  coat,  he  turns  to  BEATA.)  If 
you  have  any  influence  over  him,  for  heaven's 
sake— 

BEATA  (in  a  low  voice). 
I  can  do  nothing. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Well,  dear,  good-bye.  If  Richard  turns  up,  be 
sure  you  make  him  wait.  I  shall  be  back  in  an  hour. 
(KELLINGHAUSEN  and  BRACHTMANN  go  out.) 

BEATA. 

(Closing  her  eyes,  with  a  miserable  smile.)  In  an 
hour! 

Enter  ELLEN. 

ELLEN  (in  the  doorway). 
Mother ! 

[97] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 
Come  in,  dear  child. 

ELLEN  (kneeling  down  beside  her). 
Mother,  mother  dear,  what  has  happened?     What 
is  it?     Papa  is  so  excited   and  talks  to  himself  so 
strangely — and  you — oh,  mother! 

BEATA   (smiling). 
Well — what  have  /  done? 

ELLEN. 

If  I  tell  you,  you  won't — won't  stay  away?  You'll 
come  and  lean  over  my  bed  every  night — just  ae 
you've  always  done? 

BEATA  (surprised). 
Then  you're  awake — when  I  come? 

ELLEN. 

Always,  always.  I  never  go  to  sleep  till  I've 
heard  you. 

BEATA. 
Dearest!     And  yet  you  never  stirred! 

ELLEN. 

Oh,  I  prided  myself  on  that!  But  last  night  it 
was  so  hard  to  keep  quiet.  I  could  feel  your  tears 
on  my  face — oh,  how  you  were  crying!  And  I  did 
so  want  to  cry  with  you.  But  I  held  my  breath  and 

[98] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

lay  as  still  as  I  could. — Mother,  what  has  happened? 
Won't  you  tell  me?     I'm  not  a  child  any  longer. 

BE  AT  A. 

Listen,  dear.  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  Is 
there  any  one  in  the  world — besides  your  father  and 
me — that  you're  very  fond  of? 

ELLEN   (softly). 
You    know,    mother.     I    don't    have    to    tell    you 

things 

BEATA. 

Some  one  you're  so  fond  of  that  you  could  live 
for  him — or  even  die  for  him? 

ELLEN. 

There's  nothing  in  the  world  I  wouldn't  do  for 
him! 

BEATA. 
(Softly  stroking  her  hair  and  cheeks.)      H'm 

Enter  CONRAD. 

CONRAD   (announcing). 
Dr.  Kahlenberg. 

BEATA  (to  ELLEN). 
Go,  dear.     That  is  all  I  wanted  to  know. 

ELLEN. 
Mother!     (Goes  out.) 

[991 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

Enter  DR.  KAHLENBERG.     CONRAD  goes  out. 

DR.  KAHLENBERG. 

You  sent  for  me,  Countess?  Nothing  wrong,  I 
hope? 

BEATA. 
Why,  this  is  your  hour  for  consultations,  isn't  it? 

DR.  KAHLENBERG. 

Oh,  there  was  no  one  there  but  two  or  three  whin- 
ing women.  The  kind  that  can  be  cured  by  the  at- 
mosphere of  a  fashionable  doctor's  waiting-room;  so 
I'm  letting  them  wait. 

BEATA. 

(Listening,  as  though  to  make  sure  that  they  are 
alone.)  I  sha'n't  keep  you  long.  Doctor — you  know 
how  often  I  have  said  to  you:  "  My  dear  friend,  I've 
got  to  live — I've  simply  got  to  live;  show  me  how — " 
and  how  you've  always  answered:  "  The  only  way  is 
to  avoid  excitement."  Well — I've  borne  that  in  mind 
— I've  schooled  myself  to  look  at  life  through  a  tomb- 
stone, as  it  were — my  own  tombstone,  doctor!  I've 
done  that.  But  now — now  there  are  storms  ahead, 
perhaps  disasters.  If  they  come,  my  judgment  and 
energy  are  equal  to  them — but  my  valves  are  not. 
I  found  that  out  last  night — it  was  only  those  drops 
of  yours  that  saved  me.  But  I  can't  live  on  those 
drops — you've  warned  me  not  to  take  them  too  often. 
[100] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

And  I  don't  want  to  die  of  this.     Doctor,  you  must 
help  me! 

DR.  KAHLENBERG. 

Why,  what's  the  meaning  of  all  this?  H'm. 
You're  right.  Strophanthus  and  digitalis  are  not 
meant  for  human  nature's  daily  food.  Besides,  the 
effect  might  wear  off. — My  dear  Countess,  take  your 
courage  in  both  hands  and  run  away.  Turn  your 
back  on  all  these  emotions.  Human  life  is  simply  a 
process  of  molecular  adjustment  complicated  by  moral 
idiosyncrasies. 

BE  ATA  (laughing). 

I'm  so  glad  to  know  it,  doctor.  (Growing  serious.) 
But  there  is  no  time  to  run  away.  The  storm  may 
break  in  an  hour. 

DR.  KAHLENBERG. 

Child,  what  has  happened?  Ah,  well,  I  never  ask 
questions. — In  an  hour? — I  am  going  home  to  de- 
spatch my  whining  women,  and  then  I'll  drop  in 
again  and  see  what  has  happened  in  the  interval. 

BEATA. 
And  if  to-day  is  only  the  prelude? 

DR.  KAHLENBERG. 

So  much  the  better.     Then  we  shall  have  time  to 
look  the  thing  in  the  face.     Meanwhile  I'll  give  you 
[101] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

something  new  to  take — something  that  your  system 
hasn't  got  used  to.  We  physicians  have  a  supply  of 
such  remedies  to  tide  us  over  bad  places. 

BEATA. 
Thank  you. 

DR.  KAHLENBERG. 

Give  me  both  hands,  Countess.  You  and  I  know 
death  too  well  to  be  much  afraid  of  it.  But  if  you 
want  to  live  I'll  do  my  best  to  help  you.  And  now 
I'll  go  and  assure  my  other  patients  that  they're 
really  ill.  Good-bye.  {He  goes  out.  In  the  hall  he 
is  heard  greeting  NORBERT.) 

Enter  NORBERT. 

NORBERT. 

Aunt  Beata,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well. 
I  was  almost  afraid 

BEATA. 

It  always  cheers  me  to  see  you,  Norbert.  And 
to-day  especially 

NORBERT. 
To-day? 

BEATA. 
'Sh — to-day  is  a  lucky  day. 

[102] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

NORBERT. 

Lucky?     In  what  way? 

BEATA. 
Wait  and  see!       Wait  and  see! 

NORBERT. 

I  say,  Aunt  Beata,  you're  not  making  fun  of  me? 
I  don't  half  like  the  way  you're  smiling  to  yourself. 

BEATA. 

Well,  you  must  make  the  best  of  it,  dear  boy! 

NORBERT. 

Aunt  Beata — you're  not  the  same  since  yesterday. 
I  knew  it  all  along.  What  a  beastly  business  life 
is !  You — you — of  all  women ! — that  they  should 
dare  attack  you !  The  scoundrels  —  the  miserable 
sneaking  scoundrels! 

BEATA. 

Norbert,  dear,  you  must  see  that  this  is  a  matter 
we  can't  discuss.  Besides,  I  have  something  else  to 
talk  to  you  about.  Can  you  tell  me  what  time  it  is? 

NORBERT. 
Half -past  four. 

BEATA. 

Will  you  ring  for  the  lamps,  please?     Ring  twice. 
(NORBERT   rings.}     I   have   only  a   few   minutes   to 
[103] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

spare,  but  it  won't  take  long  to —  (CONRAD  brings  in 
two  lamps,  and  draws  the  curtains)  to  tell  you  what 
I —  (She  hesitates,  constrained  by  CONRAD'S  pres- 
ence.) This  is  Miss  Mansbo rough's  afternoon.  She 
has  probably  gone  out.  (CONRAD  leaves  the  room.) 
You  will  find  Ellen  alone  in  her  sitting-room — go  and 
look  for  her — and  when  you  find  her,  put  your  arms 
about  her,  and  say  to  her,  "  I  love  you,  and  I  shall 
always  love  you,  in  this  world  and  the  next " — pro- 
vided there  is  any  next! 

NORBERT. 

Aunt  Beata!     (Falls  on  his  knees  before  her  and 
hides  his  face  in  her  lap.) 

BEATA  (struggling  with  her  tears). 
And  then  sit  down  in  the  twilight,  you  and  Ellen, 
quietly,  side  by  side,  and  talk  of  all  the  happiness 
that  is  coming  to  you  and  of  all  the  good  you  mean 
to  do.  Let  it  be  your  hour  of  consecration.  And  I 
shall  be  with  you  all  the  while — feeling  your  happi- 
ness, thinking  your  thoughts — all  through  this  next 
hour  of  my  life. — Now  go,  Norbert.  I  hear  some 
one  coming — it  must  be  your  father.  I  will  tell  him 
—go,  dear,  go. 

NORBERT. 

Aunt  Beata!     (Kisses  her  hand.) 
[104] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BE  AT  A. 

Your  hour  of  consecration — remember  that,  Nor- 
bert.  (NORBERT  goes  out.) 

Enter  RICHARD. 

RICHARD. 
What  has  happened  ?     You  look  radiant. 

BEATA. 

(Taking  his  hand  and  holding  it  fast.)  I  have 
settled  the  future  of  our  children.  No  matter  what 
happens  to  us —  Why,  Richard,  aren't  you  the  least 
bit  pleased? — Oh,  how  ill  you  look! 

RICHARD. 
What  sort  of  a  night  did  you  have,  Beata? 

BEATA. 

Not  so  bad. — And  how  goes  the  speech?  Are  you 
in  sight  of  land? 

RICHARD. 

Beata — I  don't  know  if  I  shall  be  able  to  speak 
to-morrow. 

BEATA  (alarmed). 

But  you  must.  You  must.  They  all  count  on  you. 
Dear,  you  must.  Is  it  because  of  that  wretched 
business  last  night? 

[105] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 

Partly,  I  suppose.  This  new  danger  has  stirred  up 
the  whole  past. 

BE  AT  A. 
And  your  conscience  is  bothering  you  again? 

RICHARD. 

You  call  it  conscience,  Beata;  I  call  it  consistency, 
How  dare  I  speak  on  this  bill,  how  dare  I  take  such 
a  stand  before  God  and  man,  when  my  whole  life 
gives  me  the  lie  ? — Good  God ! — To  stand  up  and  talk 
about  the  sanctity  of  marriage — about  the  family  life 
as  the  main  support  of  society — to  parade  such  an 
argument  before  the  cynics  of  the  Opposition,  when 
with  my  own  hands  I  have  helped  to  tear  down  that 
very  support — no,  no,  I  can't  justify  myself  with- 
out adopting  their  own  cynical  and  materialistic 
creed.  And  not  even  then;  for  what  I  call  God  they 
call  social  expediency;  and  this  new  idol  of  theirs  is 
more  exacting  than  the  Jehovah  of  the  old  dispensa- 
tion. As  to  acknowledging  that  words  are  one  thing 
and  actions  another — that  the  man  in  me  is  not  ac- 
countable to  the  statesman — well,  I  haven't  sunk  as 
low  as  that — what  I  give  I  must  give  without  an  after- 
thought.— And  so  all  my  ideas  crumble  into  dust,  all 
my  reasoning  ends  in  contradiction — and  I  find  my- 
self powerless  to  plead  the  very  cause  I  have  at 
heart! 

[106] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 
But  why,  dearest,  why? 

RICHARD. 

Forgive  me.  I  am  so  tired;  my  mind  is  a  blank. 
First  that  dreadful  scene  last  night,  when  a  moment's 
hesitation  would  have  ruined  us  both.  Then  my  long 
night  at  my  desk — the  superhuman  effort  of  collect- 
ing my  thoughts  after  all  I'd  been  through.  But  as 
I  worked,  my  subject  took  such  hold  of  me  that  I've 
only  just  waked  up  to  the  question — how  on  earth 
is  it  all  to  end?  (BEATA  is  silent.)  Oh,  Beata,  the 
truth,  the  truth!  Oh,  to  be  at  one  with  one's  self! 
To  have  the  right  to  stand  up  openly  for  one's  con- 
victions !  I  would  give  everything  for  it — happiness, 
life  itself,  everything! 

BEATA. 
And  yet  you  love  life. 

RICHARD. 

I?  No — not  now.  Now  that  our  falsehood  is 
closing  in  on  us,  death  would  be — but  don't  be  fright- 
ened; I  shall  do  nothing  foolish.  There  are  two  of 
us,  and  we  must  hold  together.  I  am  so  used  to 
sharing  every  thought  with  you. — What  has  happened 
since  yesterday  ?  I  suppose  Michael  has  given  up  the 
absurd  idea  of  prosecuting  the  man. 

[107] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIV: 

BEATA. 
On  the  contrary. 

RICHARD. 
What? 

BEATA. 

At  this  moment  he  has  probably  found  out  what- 
ever your  former  secretary  knows  about  us. 

RICHARD. 
What  on  earth  do  you  mean? 

BEATA. 

I  haven't  interrupted  you,  dear,  because  speaking 
seemed  to  clear  your  thoughts.  But  I  haven't  at- 
tempted to  answer  you,  because  every  minute  is 
precious. 

RICHARD. 
Hasn't  Brachtmann  been  here? 

BEATA. 
Brachtmann  came  too  late. 

RICHARD. 

Then ? 

BEATA. 

Even  if  he  had  come  sooner  he  could  not  have 
prevented  anything.  Dearest,  Michael  may  come 
back  at  any  moment,  and  when  he  comes  we  must 

be  ready 

|  1081 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 

Don't  go  on,  Beata.  Let  us  suppose  the  worst: 
say  that  Meixner  has  unearthed  a  few  suspicious  cir- 
cumstances— what  use  can  he  make  of  them?  He 
can't  produce  any  proofs. 

BEATA. 
Who  knows? 

RICHARD. 

Where  are  they  to  come  from?  The  few  letters 
we  exchanged  were  burnt  long  ago.  Copies  are  not 
admitted  as  evidence.  He  will  not  be  allowed  to 
testify  on  oath.  We  have  only  to  keep  ourselves  in 
hand  as  well  as  we  did  yesterday,  and  the  whole  story 
will  fall  to  the  ground. 

BEATA. 
And  Michael? 

RICHARD. 
Michael? 

BEATA. 
Suppose  he  questions  you? 

RICHARD. 
There  can  be  but  one  answer,  I  think. 

BEATA. 

In  our  class  there  is  something  we  call  a  "  word 
of  honour."  If  he  asks  you  for  that — ?  You  don't 
answer. 

[109] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD  (confused,  breathing  heavily). 
We  haven't  reached  that  point  yet,  Beata — and  if 
he  does — why,  we  two  are  chained  together  by  our 
past,    we    are    answerable   to   no    one    but   ourselves. 
That  is  all  there  is  left  to  us. 

BEATA. 

Is  that  your  answer?  You,  who  tell  me  you  have 
wrestled  with  yourself  all  night  because — Richard,  I 
don't  believe  you! 

RICHARD. 

Believe  me  or  not,  but  be  sure  that,  whatever  hap- 
pens, no  suspicion  shall  fall  on  you — on  either  of  us. 
And  now  I  beg  of  you — let  me  see  Michael  alone. 

BEATA  (smiling). 
Alone? 

RICHARD. 

I 

BEATA  (still  smiling). 
Hush!     Do  you  hear  his  latch-key? 

RICHARD. 

Beata,  I  implore  you.  You  are  not  fit  to  bear 
what  is  coming !  If  you  value  your  life,  go 

BEATA. 
I  value  yours,  and  therefore  I  shall  stay. 

[no] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

Enter  KELLINGHAUSEN. 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (very  gravely). 
Good-afternoon,     Richard.      (Shakes     hands    with 
him.) 

RICHARD. 
Good-afternoon,  Michael. 

KELLINGHAUSEN   (to  BEATA). 
Has  any  one  been  here? 

BEATA. 
Norbert — and  Dr.  Kahlenberg.     No  one  else. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Kahlenberg?     At  this  hour?     Is  any  one  ill? 

BEATA. 

No.     He  merely  came  to  see  me.     Shall  I   give 
you  some  tea? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Thanks,  no.     Richard,  you  don't  want  any  either? 
Then,  if  you'll  come  into  my  study 

RICHARD. 
With  pleasure. 

BEATA. 

Michael,  I  don't  understand  you.     You  have  never 
shut  me  out  from  your  counsels.     Hitherto,  if  I  have 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

taken  part  in  your  discussions,  it  was  because  you 
wished  me  to;  to-day  I  have  a  right  to  be  here. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

My  dear  child,  don't  you  always  have  your  way? 
If  Richard  doesn't  object 

RICHARD. 
Whatever  you  wish 

BEATA. 

But  first  I  want  to  give  you  a  piece  of  good  news. 
Norbert  and  Ellen  are  engaged. 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (his  face  lighting  up). 
Ha?      What?      Those    two    children?      I    saw    it 
coming,    bless    their    hearts! — but    I'd    no    notion — 
where  are  they,  Beata?     (Goes  to  door,  left.) 

RICHARD  (in  a  low  tonef  to  BEATA). 
He  knows  nothing. 

BEATA  (with  an  effort). 

Michael — never  mind — don't  speak  to  them  now! 
To-morrow  Norbert  will (She  breathes  pain- 
fully. RICHARD  makes  a  startled  movement.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
What  is  it?     Are  you  ill? 
[112] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

No — no,  it's  nothing.  But  happiness  reverberates 
so!  Norbert  is  coming  back  to-morrow.  He  wishes 
to  tell  his  mother  first. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Ah,  that's  thoughtful  of  him.  I  had  forgotten 
about  his  mother.  Well,  shake  hands,  old  man.  Con- 
found it — I'm  ashamed  to  look  you  in  the  face  with 
this  cursed  thing  hanging  over  us.  And  to  think 
how  happy  we  three  might  be — oh,  that  hound,  that 
vile  infamous  hound! 

RICHARD. 
Tell  me  what  happened,  Michael. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

There  isn't  much  to  tell.  My  lawyer  had  a  talk 
with  him.  He  says  his  only  object  is  to  bring  out 
the  facts. 

RICHARD  (after  a  short  pause). 
Well — let  him  bring  them  out. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Let   him?     You   should   have   heard   Brachtmann. 

The   man   was   beside  himself.     He  began  with  the 

old  story  of  the  Frenchman  who  said  that  if  he  were 

accused   of  stealing   the   towers   of  Notre   Dame   he 

[113] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

would  take  the  first  train  far  the  frontier.  "  No 
matter  how  blameless  you  all  are,  the  lie  will  stick 
to  you,"  he  said.  "  It  will  stick  to  you  and  to  your 
children  and  to  your  party."  I  had  to  give  him  my 
word  of  honour  that,  whatever  happens,  I  will  do 
nothing  to  bring  scandal  on  the  party. 

RICHARD. 
But  you  haven't  stuck  to  your  resolve? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

How  could  I?  We  can't  wring  the  scoundrel's 
neck  without  landing  ourselves  in  prison.  Norbert 
was  right  yesterday.  In  such  cases  we  have  no 
refuge  left  but  the  courts.  There  is  more  in  that 
boy's  ideas  than  I  was  willing  to  admit  at  the  time. 
Well — meanwhile  I've  agreed  to  think  the  matter 
over  for  twenty-four  hours.  A  mere  formality,  of 
course — and  yet  riot  quite,  after  all.  The  fact  is,  I 
wanted  to  talk  it  out  with  you. 

RICHARD. 
Very  well. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Beata — Richard — I    don't    need    to    be    told    that 

there's  nothing  wrong  in  this  house — nothing  wrong 

between  you  two,  to  put  it  plainly.     I  can  see  that 

for  myself.     But  in  such  a  dirty  business  the  most 

[114] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

harmless  fact  may  be  used  against  you ;  and  you  won't 
misunderstand  me  if  I  ask  you — both —  You  see,  you 
two  have  always  been  in  such  close  sympathy — I  don't 
say  that  to  reproach  you — God  forbid !  It  was  nat- 
ural enough — you're  both  so  much  cleverer  than  I 
am — but  I  ask  you,  for  all  our  sakes,  to  look  back 
and  try  to  remember  if  you've  ever  written  each  other 
any  letters  that  might — might  seem — to  an  outsider 
— a  little  too  friendly  ?  Good  heavens !  I  should 
understand  it  if  you  had!  Or — or — have  you  ever 
written  anything  about  me?  Anything  that  might — ? 
There  are  plenty  of  things  to  criticise  about  me. 
But  I  must  know  the  truth.  There  must  not  be  the 
least  pretext  for  this  attack.  I  ask  you  to  stop  and 
consider. 

RICHARD. 
There  is  nothing  to  consider,  my  dear  Michael. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Not  so  fast,  my  dear  fellow!     Take  time.     Think 
the  matter  over. 

RICHARD. 
There  is  nothing  to  think  over. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Beata ? 

BEATA. 

My  answer  is  the  same  as  Richard's,  of  course. 
[115] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Richard,  our  fate  is  in  your  hands.  Do  you  advise 
me  to  bring  suit? 

RICHARD. 
Oh — if  you  ask  my  advice 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

I  don't  ask  your  advice  but  your  assurance.  I 
have  pledged  myself  not  to  endanger  the  party. 
Give  me  your  word  of  honour  that  I  can  bring  suit 
without  doing  so. 

RICHARD  (straightening  himself). 

I    give    you    my    word    of    honour    that — you 

(BE ATA  gives  a  suppressed  cry.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
What  is  the  matter?     What  ails  you? 

BEATA  (looking  at  RICHARD). 

He  will  give  you  his  word  of  honour,  and  then  he 
will  go  home  and  blow  his  brains  out.  Don't  you 
see  it  in  his  face? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
What  do  you  mean? 

RICHARD. 

Kellinghausen,  ask  your  wife  to  leave  the  room, 
and  I  will 

[116] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

Richard,  for  fifteen  years  we  have  shared  all  our 
joys  and  sorrows.     We  must  share  this  too. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

(Half  strangled,  tearing  his  collar  open,  and  then 
throwing  himself  on  RICHARD.)     You — you — you! 

RICHARD  (seizing  both  his  hands). 
Michael,  take  care!     This  must  be  between  our- 
selves.    Remember  that. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Yes — yes — yes;  I  pledged  my  word — I  remember 

— I — oh,  you — you (He  sinks  down  in  a  chair 

near  the  table,  and  hides  his  face  with  tearless  sobs.) 

BEATA  (approaching  him  after  a  pause). 
Dear  Michael,  Richard  and  I  conquered  our  feel- 
ings long  ago.     That  is  why  we  are  so  calm  now. 
What  happened  between  us  happened  years  ago,  and 
we  are  ready  to  pay  the  cost,  whatever  it  is. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Oh,  as  far  as  he's  concerned,  it's  simple  enough. 
He  and  I  can  soon  settle  our  account. 

RICHARD. 
Yes. 

[117] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

But  you — you — how  can  you  justify  yourself? 
How  have  you  reconciled  it  to  your  conscience  to 
live  beside  me  half  a  lifetime  with  this  thing  between 
us?  Why  didn't  you  come  and  ask  me  to  set  you 
free? 

BEATA. 

Yes— that  was  what  he  wanted — he  has  such  a 
sense  of  honour!  And  to  this  day  he  has  never 
understood  why  I  wouldn't.  I  loved  him  too  well 
to  ruin  his  life — that's  all.  Even  if  he  could  have 
got  a  divorce  and  married  me,  such  a  marriage  would 
have  been  his  ruin.  I  should  simply  have  finished 
the  work  that  Leonie  had  begun.  But  what  I  wanted 
was  to  save  him.  And  so  all  these  years  I  have  lied 
for  him 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

And  what  have  you  done  for  me?  Or  didn't  I 
enter  into  your  calculations? 

BEATA. 

Michael,  you  must  see  that  we  can't  discuss  that 
now.  It  would  be  laughable  if  I  were  to  try  to  ex- 
plain to  you 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Ha!  Ha!  Lies  and  deception!  Wife — friend — 
everything!  Everything!  (To  RICHARD.)  Why  do 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

you  stand  there  as  if  you  were  struck  dumb?     Why 
don't  you  try  and  whitewash  yourself  too? 

RICHARD. 

You  said  just  now  that  our  account  was  easy  to 
settle. 

BEATA. 

He  sees  things  differently.  I  speak  for  myself. 
He  looks  at  things  as  you  do. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

And  yet 

BEATA. 

Wait,  please!  I  have  one  word  more  to  say.  I 
have  staked  everything  and  lost — it's  all  over  for  us, 
all  three  of  us.  If  I  had  spoken  years  ago,  the 
same  thing  would  have  happened.  You  told  me  just 
now  that  I  had  made  you  happy.  Well,  that  is  what 
my  lie  has  done.  It  has  made  you  happy  for  fifteen 
years.  Blame  me  for  it — but  don't  forget  it 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

And  God — and  retribution?  Do  you  never  think 
of  such  things?  No  repentance — no  remorse?  Noth- 
ing? Nothing? 

RICHARD. 

Spare  her,  Michael.  Let  me  answer  for  her. 
(KELLINGHAUSEN  advances  toward  him  with  clenched 

f,t.) 

["9] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

You  have  questioned  me,  Michael;  let  me  question 
you.  Must  every  natural  instinct  end  in  remorse  and 
repentance?  Sin?  I  am  not  conscious  of  sinning. 
I  did  the  best  that  it  was  in  me  to  do.  I  simply 
refused  to  be  crushed  by  your  social  laws.  I  as- 
serted my  right  to  live ;  my  right  to  self-preservation. 
Perhaps  it  was  another  way  of  suicide — that's  no 
matter.  You  know  what  my  life  has  been — how  I've 
had  to  buy  it,  hour  by  hour  and  drop  by  drop,  at  the 
nearest  chemist's — well,  wretched  as  it  is,  I've  loved 
it  too  dearly  to  disown  it  now!  Yes,  I've  loved  it — 
I've  loved  everything — everything  around  me — you 
too,  Michael — ah,  don't  laugh — yes,  you  too — even  if 
I've — ah —  {Her  breath  comes  in  long  gasps  and 
she  reels  and  clutches  a  chair,  closing  her  eyes  as  she 
leans  against  it.  Then  she  opens  them  again.) 
Which  one  of  you  will  —  help  me  to  the  door? 
(RICHARD  makes  a  movement,  and  then  draws  back.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Beat  a,  from  now  on  there  will  be  no  one  to  help 

you. 

BEATA. 

Thank  you.  (With  an  intense  effort,  she  walks 
out  of  the  room.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (to  RICHARD). 

And  now ? 

[120] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 

Do  what  you  like.     Say  what  you  like.     Curse  me 
— shoot  me.     I  sha'n't  defend  myself. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
You  admit  that  one  of  us  must  die? 

RICHARD. 
No;  I  don't  admit  it;  but  I  am  at  your  orders. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
A  duel  between  us  is  impossible 

RICHARD. 
Impossible 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

I  don't  mean  on  account  of  the  children.     That's 
all  at  an  end. 

RICHARD. 

Why  must  it  be  at  an  end  if  one  of  us  dies?     But 
I  am  at  your  orders. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

I  have  pledged  my  word  not  to  bring  any  scandal 
on  the  party.     You  are  under  the  same  obligation. 

RICHARD. 
Yes. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

So  that  the  only  thing  left 

f  1211 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 

Before  you  go  any  further,  let  me  tell  you  that  I 
decline  to  go  through  the  farce  of  an  American  duel. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

You  decline — ?     Perhaps  you  want  to  sneak  out 
of  the  whole  business? 

RICHARD. 
You  don't  believe  that! 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Well — what  other  way  is  there? 

RICHARD. 

I  know  a  way — but (NORBERT'S  voice  is  heard 

outside,  speaking  with  CONRAD.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

(With  sudden  decision,  opening  the  door.)     Nor- 
bert! 

RICHARD  (following  him). 

For  God's  sake,  Michael — do  you  want  to  disgrace 
my  whole  house? 

KELLINGHAUSEN   (opening  the  door). 
You    shall    see. — Norbert!     Come    in,    my    boy — 
come! 

NORBERT  enters. 
[  122  ] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

NORBERT. 

Uncle  Michael,  what  is  the  matter  with  Aunt 
Beata?  The  doctor  is  with  her,  and  Ellen  has  been 

called 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Nothing  serious.  Don't  be  alarmed.  (Takes  his 
hand.)  Norbert,  your  father  and  I  were  just  talk- 
ing of  last  evening.  You  remember  that  stupid  busi- 
ness interrupted  our  talk,  and  we  never  heard  the 
end  of  your  argument.  Let  us  have  it  now.  Sit 
down — sit  down,  Richard.  (They  all  seat  them- 
selves.) There  was  one  phrase  of  yours  that  struck 
me.  You  said — you  said — that  if 

RICHARD. 

You  said  that  if  a  man  of  honour  has  injured  an- 
other and  is  called  on  to  atone  for  it,  he  is  the  best 
judge  of  his  own  punishment. 

NORBERT  (laughing). 

Did  I?  Very  likely — but  my  head  is  so  full  of 
other  things  just  now  that  I  couldn't  swear  to  it. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

That  was  not  quite  what  I  meant;  but  no  matter. 
Suppose  we  take  such  a  case.  If  the  injured  person 
says :  "  One  of  us  two  must  die  " — what  ought  the 
other  to  answer? 

f  123  1 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

NORBERT. 

Why,  Uncle  Michael,  I  should  say  that  depended 
on  the  nature  of  the  injury — doesn't  it? 

RICHARD. 

Let  us  say,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  the 
wrong  is  the  gravest  that  one  man  can  do  another; 
let  us  say  he  has  seduced  his  friend's  wife.  Has 
the  husband  a  right  to  the  other  man's  life? 

NORBERT. 

Why,  father — there  can  be  but  one  answer  to  that. 
And  if  the  other  man  is  a  man  of  honour — though 
I  don't  see  how  he  could  be,  do  you? — he  would  be 
more  eager  to  give  his  life  than  the  husband  could 
possibly  be  to  take  it. 

RICHARD. 
H'm.     Perhaps  you're  right.     Thank  you,  my  boy. 

NORBERT. 

Uncle  Michael,  at  what  time  to-morrow  may  I  see 
you? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
I'll  send  you  word,  Norbert. 

NORBERT. 

Thanks.  Don't  make  it  too  late,  will  you?  Don't 
keep  me  waiting  too  long.  Good-bye.  Good-bye, 
father.  (Goes  out.) 

I  ]24l 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 
Well — are  you  satisfied? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

You  put  the  question  in  a  way  that  suggests  sui- 
cide.    That  was  not 

RICHARD. 

It  is  your  own  choice.      All   I  ask  is  two  days' 

respite.      You    won't    refuse   it?  (KELLINGHAUSEN 

shrugs  his  shoulders.)     Good-bye.  (Goes  out.) 

CURTAIN. 


ACT  IV 


ACT  IV 

A  study  in  the  house  of  RICHARD  VOLKERLINGK. 
Doors  on  the  right  and  left,  at  the  back.  A  fire- 
place in  the  middle  background,  the  rest  of  the  wall 
hidden  by  book-cases,  which  frame  the  fireplace  and 
doors.  In  the  foreground,  to  the  left,  a  window.  To  the 
right  of  it,  a  writing-table.  In  the  centre  a  table 
covered  with  periodicals  and  books.  On  the  right  a 
leather  sofa  and  arm-chairs.  Behind  these  a  door. 
Rich  and  sombre  decorations,  old  pictures,  armour, 
etc.  A  hanging-lamp  with  a  green  shade,  another 
lamp  on  a  table,  both  lit.  Through  the  window  one 
sees  the  twilight.  HOLTZMANN  is  seated  at  the  centre- 
table,  reading. 

Enter  GEORGE. 

GEORGE. 
Herr  Holtzmann,  some  one  is  asking  for  the  Baron. 

HOLTZMANN. 
Why,  you  know  the  Baron  is  at  the  Reichstag. 

GEORGE. 

He  says  it's  important  that  the  Baron  should  see 
him.     He  wants  to  know  when  he  can  call  again. 
[129] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

HOLTZMANN. 

Do  you  know  who  it  is? 

GEORGE. 

Well— not  exactly  a  gentleman.  What  shall  I  tell 
him? 

HOLTZMANN. 

The  Baron  speaks  this  afternoon.  He  will  not 
leave  till  the  House  rises.  Tell  the  man  to  come 
back  in  an  hour.  (GEORGE  goes  out.) 

NORBERT  enters. 

NORBERT  (greatly  excited). 

Herr  Holtzmann — haven't  you  been  at  the  Reich- 
stag? (HOLTZMANN  shakes  his  head  without  speak- 
ing.) Then  you  haven't  heard?  My  father  has  had 
the  most  wonderful  triumph — they  say  there  has 
never  been  anything  like  it. 

HOLTZMANN. 
Ah? 

NORBERT. 

I  wish  I  could  give  you  an  idea  of  it!  Look  at 
me — I'm  shaking  all  over !  If  you  could  have  heard 
the  way  the  words  rushed  out,  the  way  the  thoughts 
trod  on  each  other's  heels!  He  began  by  sketching 
the  psychology  of  the  modern  man,  and  from  that 
he  developed  a  theory  of  marriage,  with  its  outward 
[ISO] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

obligations  and  inner  ideals — the  marriage  of  to-day 
in  its  highest,  noblest  sense — but  you'll  read  what 
he  said;  you'll  see  if  I'm  exaggerating.  Then  he 
went  on  to  the  practical  application  of  his  theory. 
In  this  unsettled  age,  when  parents  are  losing  their 
control  over  their  children,  and  the  state  its  hold  over 
the  citizen,  when  even  God  and  His  priests  see  the 
soul  of  man  slipping  away  from  them — at  such  a 
time  we  must  do  all  we  can  to  strengthen  the  only 
tie  that  holds  humanity  together — the  only  tie  that 
gives  youth  the  shelter  of  the  family  life  till  habit 
becomes  duty,  and  duty  the  law  of  being,  and  through 
obedience  to  that  law  a  strong  and  enduring  national 
soul  is  created.  Isn't  that  beautiful,  Herr  Holtz- 
mann?  Isn't  that  a  glorious  idea? 

HOLTZMANN. 

Very  fine,  very  fine.  But  doesn't  such  an  argu- 
ment lead  back  to  the  standpoint  of  the  Church, 

which 

NORBERT. 

When  marriage  is  a  mockery,  he  said,  the  state 
may  intervene  and  dissolve  it.  That  was  all.  Never 
in  my  life  have  I  heard  such  a  scathing  denunciation 
of  infidelity! 

HOLTZMANN. 
Ah?     Indeed? 

[131] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

NORBERT. 

There  was  such  terrible  menace  in  his  words  that 
I — oh,  well,  I  can't  explain  it — but  I  began  to  feel 
afraid — of  I  don't  know  what 

HOLTZMANN  (half  to  himself). 
This  will  explain 

NORBERT. 
Explain  what?     What  do  you  mean? 

GEORGE  enters. 

GEORGE   (urgently). 
Herr  Holtzmann ! 

HOLTZMANN   (to  NORBERT). 
One  moment,  please.     (He  goes  up  to  GEORGE.) 

GEORGE  (in  a  whisper). 

The  man  is  here  again,  and  asking  to  see  you. 
He  is  waiting  in  the  cafe"  across  the  street. 

HOLTZMANN. 
Doesn't  he  give  his  name? 

GEORGE. 
Yes.     Something  like  Meister  or  Meissner. 

HOLTZMANN  (startled,  in  a  whisper). 
Meixner  ? 

L  J 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

GEORGE. 
That's  it. 

HOLTZMANN   (turning  to  NORBERT). 
Will  you  excuse  me?     Some  one  has  sent  for  me. 

NORBERT. 

Don't  let  me  keep  you.  (HOLTZMANN  and  GEORGE 
go  out.  NORBERT  goes  to  the  window,  his  hand 
shading  his  eyes,  and  gazes  out  eagerly.  RICHARD 
comes  in  quietly  and  lays  his  portfolio  on  the  writing- 
table.) 

NORBERT  (turning  toward  him). 
Father!     Father!     (He  throws   himself  in  RICH- 
ARD'S arms.     RICHARD  thanks  him  with  a  smile.) 

NORBERT. 

Mother  sends  you  her  love  and  is  sorry  she  can't 
be  here  to  congratulate  you.  She's  in  waiting  on  the 
Princess  this  evening. 

RICHARD. 
Ah?     (He  moves  about  the  room.) 

NORBERT. 

Oh,  father,  how  happy  you  must  be!  How  they 
cheered,  how  they  fought  to  get  near  you  and  shake 
your  hand!  Oh,  if  only  I  could  have  one  such  hour 
in  my  life! 

[133] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD  (laying  a  hand  on  his  shoulder). 
If  you  do,  my  son,  may  you  pay  for  it  less  dearly ! 

NORBERT. 

What  do  you  mean? 

RICHARD. 

Listen,  Norbert. — Have  you  heard  anything  of 
Aunt  Beata? 

NORBERT. 

I  went  there,  but  they  told  me  she  wouldn't  see 
any  one. 

RICHARD  (musingly). 
H'm. 

NORBERT. 
The  fact  is,  I  wanted  to  see  Uncle  Michael. 

RICHARD. 

(Who  has  walked  toward  the  window.)  Uncle 
Michael?  That  reminds  me  that  I  wanted  to  tell 
you —  How  the  sunset  shines  on  the  house-tops  over 
there !  Everything  is  in  a  glow — we  shall  have  glori- 
ous winter  weather  soon 

NORBERT. 
You  said  you  had  something  to  tell  me,  father. 

RICHARD. 

Yes,  yes;  to  be  sure.  But  first,  haven't  you  some- 
thing to  tell  me? 

\  1341 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

NORBERT  (with  an  embarrassed  smile). 
Yes;  but  not  to-day — when  you're  so 

RICHARD. 

The  very  day,  dear  boy!  To-morrow  I  may — but 
there's  nothing  to  tell,  after  all.  Aunt  Beata  and  I 
have  seen  this  coming  and  it  has  made  us  very  happy. 

NORBERT. 

(Flinging  his  arms  about  his  father.)  Father! 
Father ! 

RICHARD. 

Norbert!  My  dear  lad!  But  we  don't  yet  know 
what  Uncle  Michael  will  say 

t 
NORBERT. 

Uncle  Michael?  When  I'm  your  son?  Father, 
you've  heard  something.  You  wouldn't  frighten  me 
for  nothing. 

RICHARD. 

I  have  heard  nothing.  But,  Norbert,  listen. 
Whatever  comes  to  you  in  after  days,  I  want  you  to 
remember  one  thing:  it  doesn't  matter  whether  we 
succeed  or  not.  What  we  need  is  the  guiding  note 
of  a  voice  that  seems  the  echo  of  our  best  hopes.  It 
doesn't  matter  whether  we  are  mistaken  in  the  voice 
or  not — the  great  thing  is  to  hear  it.  And  the  worst 
thing  is  not  to  feel  the  need  of  it. 
T  135  1 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

NORBERT. 

Thank  you,  father.  I'm  not  sure  I  understand — 
but  you  may  be  sure  I  shall  listen  for  the  voice. 

RICHARD. 

And  one  thing  more.  Uncle  Michael  is  very  busy 
just  now.  Leave  him  alone  for  a  day  or  two — even 
if  you  have  the  chance  of  speaking.  And  let  me 
see  you  to-morrow  morning  early.  I  may  have  to 
go  on  a  long  journey — and  before  I  start 

NORBERT. 
On  a  journey?     Now?     Just  as  you 

RICHARD  (nods). 

This  is  between  ourselves.  But  meanwhile,  try  to 
see  Aunt  Beata  for  a  moment.  I  want  you  to  tell 
her — but  stay,  I'll  write.  (He  seats  himself  at  the 
writing-table  and  begins  to  write.) 

Enter  GEORGE. 

GEORGE. 
His  Excellency  Baron  Ludwig  von  Volkerlingk. 

Enter  BARON  LUDWIG.     RICHARD  starts  up,  pleased 
and  surprised. 

GEORGE. 

The  evening  papers,  your  Excellency.  (He  puts 
them  down  and  goes  out.) 

[136] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 

Ludwig!  It's  a  long  time  since  you've  given  me 
this  pleasure. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Thank  you,  Richard. 

RICHARD. 

Will  you  excuse  me  a  moment?  I  am  finishing  a 
letter.  (He  folds  the  letter,  puts  it  into  an  envelope 
and  writes  the  address,  while  NORBERT  and  BARON 
LUDWIQ  are  greeting  each  other.}  There! 

NORBERT  (taking  the  letter"). 
An  answer,  father? 

RICHARD. 
As  soon  as  possible.      (NORBERT  goes  out.) 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

My  dear  Richard — we're  quite  alone,  I  suppose? 
(RICHARD  nods.)  Forgive  the  suggestion,  but — 
(he  glances  about  the  room)  Leonie  sometimes  over- 
hears  

RICHARD. 
Leonie  is  out. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

So  much  the  better.     But  first  let  me  tell  you  with 
what  admiration   I   listened  to  you  just  now — what 
breathless  admiration!     (RICHARD  makes  a  gesture  of 
I  1371 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

thanks.)      Still,  I  confess  that  your  having  to  speak 
on  such  a  subject  just  at  present  made  me — er — a 

little  nervous 

RICHARD. 

Why  so? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

I  was  almost  afraid — but  we'll  go  into  that  pres- 
ently.— Well,  at  all  events,  if  nothing  goes  wrong, 
you  may  look  upon  this  as  the  starting-point  of  a 
career  that  any  man  living  might  envy  you. 

RICHARD. 
What  do  you  mean? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

A  certain  personage  was  heard  to  say  after  your 
speech:  That  is  the  man  I  need.  Don't  look  as  if 
you  saw  a  ghost.  You  deserve  it  all,  my  dear 
Richard. 

RICHARD. 

(Walks  up  and  down  in  agitated  silence.)  Lud- 
wig — you  have  led  me  to  the  top  of  a  high  mountain 
and  shown  me  the  promised  land  in  which  I  shall 
never  set  foot.  Give  me  time  to  renounce  the  idea. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Why  should  you  talk  of  renouncing  it?     But  this 
brings  me  to  the  object  of  my  visit.     Richard,  how 
F  1381 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

long  do  you  suppose  your  enemies  will  wait  before 
making  capital  out  of  your  speech? 

RICHARD. 

I'm  ready  for  them,  my  dear  fellow.  I'll  pay  the 
shot — to  the  last  penny ! 

BARON  LUDWIG  (in  a  lower  tone). 
We  are  talking  at  cross-purposes.     I  referred  to 
the  insinuations  of  your  former  secretary. 

RICHARD. 
I  understand. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

You  know  there  is  nothing  they  are  so  eager  to 
attack  as  our  private  life.  Of  course  I  don't  for  a 
moment  imagine  the  man  has  anything  to  go  on — but 
unless  you  can  silence  him  he  may  make  a  scandal 
in  which  everything  will  go  under — your  name,  your 
career — and  other  things  besides. 

RICHARD. 
What  can  I  do  to  prevent  it? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

For  one  thing,  you  might  jump  into  a  cab  and 
hunt  your  man  down  with  a  big  bribe  in  your  pocket. 

RICHARD. 

Do  you  think  that  kind  of  man  could  be  bribed? 
[139] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

My  dear  Richard,  this  is  not  merely  a  matter  of 
life  and  death.  Remember  that.  Of  course  you 
may  be  too  late;  but  it's  the  only  way  I  can  suggest. 
(There  is  a  knock  on  the  door.) 

RICHARD. 
Come  in. 

Enter  HOLTZMANN. 

HOLTZMANN. 

I  beg  your  pardon,  Baron.  (In  a  low  voice.)  An 
important  matter 

RICHARD. 

You  may  speak  before  my  brother.  I  have  no 
secrets  from  him. 

HOLTZMANN. 

There  is  a  man  waiting  in  my  room  who  wishes 
to  speak  to  you.  His  name  is  Meixner.  (The  two 
brothers  look  at  each  other.) 

RICHARD. 

Thanks.  Please  tell  Herr  Meixner  that  I  will  see 
him  in  a  moment.  (HOLTZMANN  goes  out.) 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Well,  this  ends  my  mission.  Good-bye,  Richard. 
Your  luck  frightens  me. 

[140] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD   (laughing  bitterly). 
My  luck ! 

BARON  LUDWIG  (pressing  his  hands). 
Don't  hang  back  now,  my  dear  fellow.     The  way 
is  open  to  you. 

RICHARD. 

Thank  you.  Good-bye.  (BARON  LUDWIG  goes 
out.  RICHARD  rings.) 

Enter  GEORGE. 

RICHARD. 

I  will  see  the  gentleman  who  is  waiting.  You  will 
remain  in  the  ante-room.  Don't  let  in  any  one  else. 
(GEORGE  goes  out.  After  a  short  pause  MEIXNER 
enters.) 

RICHARD. 

Herr  Meixner,  after  what  has  happened,  doesn't 
it  strike  you  as  rather  a  liberty  that  you  should  enter 
my  house? 

MEIXNER. 

(Speaking  in  a  hoarse  voice,  with  an  occasional 
cough.)  May  I  take  my  muffler  off?  My  lungs 
have  gone  wrong — makes  it  very  hard  for  me  to  talk 
down  my  adversary  in  one  of  those  crowded  smoky 
halls. — But  what's  to  be  done  about  it? 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 
May  I  ask  what  you  want  of  me? 

MEIXNER. 

Really,  Baron,  from  the  way  you  look  at  me  I 
might  almost  ask  what  you  want  of  me.  But  I  sup- 
pose it's  my  turn  first. — I  haven't  come  out  of  malice. 
You  can  safely  offer  me  a  chair. 

RICHARD. 

If  you  haven't  come  out  of  malice  you  probably 
won't  stay  long  enough  to  need  one. 

MEIXNER. 

Ah— thanks.  Well,  I'll  take  the  hint  and  be  brief. 
It  was  down  at  Lengenfeld,  you  know.  Herr  Holtz- 
mann  and  I  sat  up  a  whole  night  arguing  over  the 
elections.  Why  not — two  honourable  antagonists,  eh  ? 
Herr  Holtzmann,  as  a  good  theologian,  was  all 
for  the  sanctity  of  the  social  order.  I  laughed  at 
him — he's  at  the  age  when  the  disciple  looks  up  to 
his  master,  and  he  brought  you  up  as  an  example. 
I  laughed  at  him  again. — "If  Baron  Volkerlingk  is 
not  what  I  believe  him  to  be,"  said  he,  "  nothing  is 
what  I  believe  it  to  be,  and  I'll  go  over  to  your  side." 
"  Shake  hands  on  that,"  said  I ;  and  we  did.  The 
next  day,  in  my  speech,  I  made  that  allusion — you 
know  what  I  mean — and  as  no  one  took  it  up,  and 
I  began  to  be  afraid  it  might  hang  fire,  I  sent  about 

r  142 1 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

a  few  copies  of  the  paper.     That  helped.     I  got  my 
nomination  the  next  day. 

RICHARD. 
Not  in  my  district. 

MEIXNER. 

No  matter.  Well — I  found  I'd  made  a  stupid 
blunder.  I'd  meant  to  convert  Holtzmann  but  I 
hadn't  meant  to  ruin  you.  Do  you  see?  Then  you 
made  your  speech  to-day — and  after  that —  Well, 
I've  been  tramping  the  streets  ever  since,  saying  to 
myself:  The  man  who  could  make  that  speech  after 
what  he's  been  through — well,  he's  suffered  enough. 
— Baron  Volkerlingk,  here  are  two  letters  written  to 
you  by —  (he  looks  about  him  cautiously)  by  a  lady 
I  needn't  name.  Don't  ask  me  how  I  got  them.  I 
didn't  steal  them;  and  here  they  are,  if  you'll  give 
me  your  word  that  you'll  put  a  stop  to  that  libel- 
suit. 

RICHARD. 

I  think  the  suit  has  already  been  stopped. 

MEIXNER. 
H'm — well,  your  thinking  so  is  hardly  sufficient. 

RICHARD. 

It  will  have  to  be  stopped,  even  if  you  keep  those 
letters. 

[143] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

MEIXNER   (startled). 

Even  if — ?  H'm — do  things  look  as  badly  as  that 
for  you? 

RICHARD. 
You  will  kindly  leave  me  out  of  the  question. 

MEIXNER. 

Ah — well — here  are  your  letters.  (Lays  them  on 
the  table.) 

RICHARD. 

If  you  didn't  wish  to  do  me  a  public  injury,  why 
not  have  shown  them  privately  to  my  secretary? 

MEIXNER. 
They  might  have  been  forgeries. 

RICHARD. 
They  may  be  so  still. 

MEIXNER. 

When  I've  taken  the  trouble  to  return  them  to  you? 
Holtzmann  doesn't  think  so.  He's  packing  up  al- 
ready. Perhaps  you'd  like  to  see  him  before  he 
leaves  ? 

RICHARD. 
No. 

MEIXNER. 

Baron  Volkerlingk,  if  I   have  got  you  into  trouble 
don't  set  it  down  to   ill-feeling.     Principle   is    prin- 
[144] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

ciple,  if  we  have  to  hang  for  it.  Every  man  who 
has  convictions  must  be  prepared  to  go  to  the  stake 
for  them.  Good-day  to  you,  Baron  Volkerlingk. 
(He  goes  out.) 

RICHARD. 

(Clutches  the  letters  and  strikes  his  clenched  hand 
against  his  brow.)  Oh,  to  live  again — to  live,  to  live! 

Enter  NORBERT. 

NORBERT. 
Father 

RICHARD. 
Well? 

NORBERT. 
Aunt  Beata  was  out. 

RICHARD. 

Out?  At  this  hour?  Why,  she  never  goes  out 
except  for  her  morning  drive.  Where  can  she  have 
gone  ? 

NORBERT. 
No  one  knows. 

RICHARD. 
But  she  must  have  ordered  the  carriage? 

NORBERT. 
It  seems  not. 

[145] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 
Well,  thank  you,  my  boy.     What  time  is  it? 

NORBERT. 
Nearly  seven. 

RICHARD. 

You  had  better  dine  without  me.     I  shall  go  and 
enquire.     She  may  have 

NORBERT. 
Is  there  anything  I  can  do,  father? 

RICHARD. 

No,   no.     Thanks,    Norbert.     (He   gives    him    his 
hand.)     Good-night,  my  lad. 

NORBERT. 
Good-night,  father.      (Goes  out.) 

RICHARD   (to  himself). 

My    God!     My    God!     (He    hurries    toward    the 
door,  and  starts  back  amazed.) 

Enter  BEATA,  in  hat  and  cloak,  her  face  thickly  veiled. 

RICHARD. 

Beata!     (He  closes  the   door.)     Where  have  you 
come  from?     Tell  me,  for  heaven's  sake! 

BEATA. 
Alive! 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 
Did  any  one  see  you  except  George? 

BE  ATA. 

Alive — alive!  (She  sinks  into  a  chair,  trembling 
and  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands.) 

RICHARD. 

Good  God,  Beata,  rouse  yourself!  What  has  hap- 
pened? Don't  keep  me  in  suspense.  What  is  it, 
dearest?  Answer  me. 

BEATA. 
I'm  so  cold. 

RICHARD   (opening  the  door). 
George!     (GEORGE  enters.)     Light  the  fire. 

GEORGE   (kneels  down  and  lights  it). 
Yes,  your  Excellency. 

RICHARD. 

And  see  that  no  one  interrupts  us.  I  am  engaged 
with  Madame  von  Kellinghausen. 

GEORGE. 
Yes,  your  Excellency. 

RICHARD. 

If  the  Baroness  comes  in,  say  nothing,  but  let  me 
know. 

[1*7] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

GEORGE. 
Yes,  your  Excellency.      (Goes  out.) 

RICHARD. 

And  now,  come  and  sit  by  the  fire.  But  take  off 
your  cloak  first — there.  And  your  hat  and  veil  too? 

BEATA. 
(Letting  her  arms  sink  down  helplessly.)      I  can't. 

RICHARD. 

Wait,  dear.  (He  loosens  her  veil.)  How  white 
you  are!  Come  to  the  fire.  (He  leads  her  to  the 
fireplace.)  There!  is  that  right? 

BEATA. 
Everything  is  right  as  long  as  you're  alive! 

RICHARD. 
Why,  Beata,  what  put  such  an  idea  into  your  head? 

BEATA. 
Hasn't  it  been  in  yours  ever  since  yesterday? 

RICHARD. 
There  will  be  no  duel,  I  assure  you. 

BEATA. 

I  have  just  read  your  speech.     It  was  your  good- 
bye to  the  world.     Oh,  don't  laugh — don't  deny  it. 
I've  felt  death  hanging  over  us  ever  since. 
[148] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 

And  I  swear  to  you  that  I've  never  loved  life  bet- 
ter, have  never  been  more  determined  to  live,  than 
now  that  I've  won  back  my  place  in  the  world. 

BEATA. 
You  swear  that  to  me? 

RICHARD. 
I  swear  it. 

BEATA. 
And  yet  you  must  die. 

RICHARD. 

So  must  we  all.  But  I  mean  to  put  it  off  as  long 
as  possible,  I  promise  you! 

BEATA   (standing  up). 

Richard,  for  fifteen  years  we  haven't  kept  a  single 
thought  from  each  other,  yet  now  that  the  end  has 
come  you  throw  me  over  as  if  you  wer.e  paying  off 
a  discarded  mistress. 

RICHARD   (agitated). 
Beata! 

BEATA. 

Don't  be  afraid.     I   am  not  going  to  force  your 

confidence.     You    would    only    repeat   what    Michael 

has  already  told  me — that  you  are  going  to  travel, 

to   disappear   for   a  while. — Is   this   the  laugh  with 

[149] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

which  we  were  to  have  greeted  death?  Often  and 
often,  at  night,  when  I've  lain  in  bed  struggling  for 
breath,  I've  said  to  myself  that  I  should  die  before 
morning.  What  if  it  really  happened  to-night? 
You'd  have  to  wait  then — you'd  have  no  right  to  fol- 
low me.  Think  how  people  would  talk  if  you  did! 
(With  a  sudden  start.)  The  children,  Richard — 
there  must  be  no  shadow  on  the  children. 

RICHARD. 

Beata,  don't   talk  so   wildly.     Do  shake  off  such 
fancies. 

BEATA  (musing). 

Yes — yes. — You   know    you'll    have   a    note    from 
Michael  in  the  morning. 

RICHARD. 
What  do  you  mean? 

BEATA. 

A  note  asking  you  to  luncheon  to-morrow  to  meet 
some  friends.     Nothing  more. 

RICHARD. 
What  is  the  object 

BEATA. 

It  seems  there  has  been  some  gossip  at  the  clubs, 
and  this  is  the  shortest  way  of  putting  a  stop  to  it. 
(Entreatingly.)     You'll  come,  Richard,  won't  you? 
f  1501 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 

Beata!  Why  should  we  go  through  this  new 
misery  ? 

BEATA  (in  wild  anxiety). 
Richard,  you  will  come?     You  must  come. 

RICHARD. 

I  can't,  Beata. 

BEATA. 

It  is  the  last  thing  I  shall  ever  ask  of  you.  Now 
you're  smiling  again — well,  I'll  believe  anything  you 
tell  me — about  your  travelling,  about  your  disap- 
pearing— I'll  believe  anything,  if  you'll  only  come. 
Richard,  come  for  the  children's  sake.  And  if  not 
for  the  children's  sake,  come  for  mine — or  I  shall 
die  of  it — I  shall  die  of  it,  Richard,  in  the  night 

RICHARD  (overcome). 
I  will  come. 

BEATA. 

Give  me  your  hand.  (RICHARD  gives  it.  BEATA 
takes  his  hand,  and  passes  it  over  her  eyes  and 
cheeks.)  There — I'm  quite  quiet  again,  you  see. 
(Sits  down.)  I  don't  know  if  I  told  you  that  I'm 
going  to  Rossitsch  to-morrow. 

RICHARD. 
For  good? 

[151] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA  (nodding). 

So  that,  unless  you  come  and  pay  me  a  visit 
there— 

RICHARD. 
This  is  good-bye? 

For  always.  So  you  needn't  keep  yourself  so 
frightfully  in  hand.  (He  looks  at  her  doubtfully.) 
You  needn't,  really.  (He  falls  on  his  knees  before 
her  and  hides  his  face  in  her  lap.) 

BEATA  (stroking  his  hair). 

"  I  knew  a  sad  old  tale  of  Tristram  and  Iseult  " — 
How  grey  you've  grown  in  these  last  few  days! 
(She  kisses  his  hair.)  Don't  get  up  yet — I  want  to 
look  at  you  again — for  the  last  time. — Only  I  can't 
see  you — your  face  has  been  like  a  mask  ever  since 
yesterday. — Look  at  me  just  once  as  you  used  to — 
just  once! 

RICHARD   (rising). 

I've  never  changed  to  you. 

BEATA. 

Haven't  you? — Who  knows? — We've  grown  old, 
you  and  I.  There's  a  layer  of  ashes  on  our  hearts — 
a  layer  of  conventionality  and  good  behaviour  and 
weariness  and  disappointment. — Who  knows  what  we 
were  like  before  the  fire  went  out?  Not  a  trace  is 
left  to  tell — not  so  much  as  a  riband  or  a  flower. 
[152] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

The  words  are  forgotten,  the  letters  are  destroyed, 
the  emotions  have  faded.  Here  we  sit  like  two 
ghosts  on  our  own  graves.  (Passionately.}  Oh,  to 
go  back  just  once  to  the  old  life,  and  then — forget 

everything 

RICHARD. 
Do  you  really  want  to? 

BE  AT  A. 
You  can  work  wonders — but  not  that! 

RICHARD. 

(Draws  out  the  letters,  and  opening  one,  begins  to 
read  it  to  her.)  "  Rossitsch,  June  13th,  1881.  Two 
o'clock  in  the  morning." 

BEATA. 

What  is  that? 

RICHARD. 

Listen.  (Reading.)  "  I  don't  want  to  sleep, 
dearest.  The  night  is  too  bright  and  my  happiness 
too  great.  The  moonlight  lies  on  Likowa,  and  al- 
ready the  dawn  shows  red  through  the  network  of 
elms.  The  blood  beats  like  a  hammer  in  my  tem- 
ples— I  scarcely  know  how  I  am  going  to  bear  the 
riches  of  my  new  life.  Oh,  how  I  pray  God  to  let 
me  live  it  out  beside  you — not  as  your  wife,  that 
would  be  too  wild  a  dream! — but  as  an  unseen  influ- 
ence at  your  side,  faint  as  the  moonlight  which  rests 
[153] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

upon  your  sleep,  or  as  the  first  glow  of  dawn  that 
wakes  you  to  new  endeavour." 

BEATA. 

I  must  have  been  listening  to  Wagner.  Let  me 
see;  did  I  really  write  that?  (She  reads.)  "For 
I  mean  to  make  you  the  greatest  among  men,  you, 
my  discoverer  and  my  deliverer — "  That's  not  so 
bad,  you  know.  (Reads  on.)  "  If  only  heaven 
would  let  me  die,  and  give  you  my  life  to  live  as  well 
as  your  own."  (She  rises  suddenly  with  a  strange 
look  on  her  face.) 

RICHARD. 

This  letter  and  another  have  just  been  brought  to 
me  by — Meixner.  If  he  had  come  yesterday  we 
should  have  been  saved.  Now  it  is  too  late. 

BEATA. 

Too  late? — Oh,  Richard,  how  ungrateful  I've  been! 
Why,  every  prayer  of  my  youth  has  been  granted — 
the  long  sad  sweet  dream  at  your  side —  (She 
breaks  suddenly  into  laughter.) 

RICHARD. 
Why  do  you  laugh? 

BEATA. 

I  laugh  because  in  your  speech  this  morning  you 
disowned    us    both — disowned    our    long    sad    sweet 
[154] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

dream.  Oh,  I  don't  blame  you,  Richard.  It  isn't 
your  conscience  that  torments  you,  it's  the  conscience 
of  the  race.  I'm  only  a  woman — what  do  I  care  for 
the  race?  You  felt  that  you  were  sinning — I  felt 
that  I  had  risen  above  myself,  that  I  had  attained 
the  harmony  nature  meant  me  to  attain.  And  be- 
cause I  feel  that 

RICHARD. 
You  deny  that  we  have  sinned ? 

BEATA. 

I  deny  nothing.  I  affirm  nothing.  I  stand  on  the 
farther  shore  of  life,  and  look  over  at  you  with  a 
smile.  Oh,  Richard,  Richard  (she  laughs),  did  you 
ever  really  think  I  had  given  you  up?  I  never  gave 
you  up.  I  never  ceased  to  long  for  you,  passionately, 
feverishly,  day  and  night,  when  you  were  away  and 
when  you  were  near  me — always,  always — and  all 
the  while  I  was  playing  the  cool,  quiet  friend,  biting 
my  lips  to  keep  the  words  back,  and  crushing  down 
my  rebellious  heart — yes,  and  through  it  all  I  was 
so  happy — so  unspeakably,  supremely  happy 

RICHARD  (going  up  to  her). 

Take  care,  dear.     You  mustn't  excite  yourself.     I 
shall  have  to  send  you  home. 
[155] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

(Letting  her  head  sink  on  his  breast  with  a  happy 
smile.)  Home?  This  is  home. 

RICHARD. 

They  will  be  wondering  where  you  are.  They  may 
send  here  to  find  you. 

BEATA  (mysteriously,  urgently). 
No,  no — not  yet!  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  you. 
There  are  so  many  secrets  I  must  tell  you.  Every- 
thing has  grown  so  clear  to  me — I  wish  I — Richard, 
you  will  surely  come  to-morrow?  (Crying  out  sud- 
denly.) I  want  to  stay  with  you.  I  am  afraid  of 
to-night ! 

RICHARD. 
Beata,  do  try  to  control  yourself. 

BEATA. 

Yes,  yes — I'll  control  myself. —  (She  stands  mo- 
tionless, benumbed.)  Give  me  my  hat.  (He  brings 
her  the  hat  and  veil.)  And  my  veil.  (Fervently.) 
You  still  love  your  life,  Richard?  You  still  want  tc 
live? 

RICHARD. 
Haven't  I  told  you  so?     Ever  since 

BEATA. 

Never  fear,  dearest.     You  shall  live. 
[156] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD  (with  outstretched  hands). 
Beata,  before  we  part 

BEATA. 

Don't  thank  me  —  don't  kiss  me.     I  —  good-bye, 
Richard. —     (She  goes  out.) 


Beata! 


RICHARD. 


CURTAIN. 


[157] 


ACT  V 


ACT  V 

The  dining-room  at  COUNT  KELUNGHAUSEN'S.  In 
the  middle  of  the  stage  a  table  with  six  covers.  On 
the  right  a  sofa,  table,  and  chairs.  Sideboard  on  the 
left.  In  the  centre  at  the  back  a  wide  door  lead- 
ing into  the  drawing-room.  Door  on  the  right  into  ante- 
room,  door  on  the  left  into  inner  apartments.  A  window 
on  the  right,  in  the  foreground.  Grey  light  of  a  win- 
ter's day.  ELLEN  is  busy  arranging  the  flowers  on 
the  table.  CONRAD  in  the  background.  Enter  BEATA 
from  the  left. 

ELLEN. 

Oh,  mother,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come.  Will  the 
flowers  do? 

BEATA. 
Beautifully,  dear.     (CONRAD  goes  out.) 

ELLFN. 

And  the  cards?  Look — I've  put  you  here,  of 
course,  with  Baron  Ludwig  on  your  right,  and  Prince 
Usingen  on  your  left. — Mother!  You're  not  listen- 
ing. 

[161] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

Yes    I    am.     But   Brachtmann    is   older   than   the 
Prince.     They  must  change  places. 

ELLEN. 

Very  well.     And  this  is  Uncle  Richard's  seat.,  next 
to  father's. 

Enter  KELLINGHAUSEN. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
What  about  father? 

ELLEN. 

I  was  only  saying  that  I  had  put  Uncle  Richard 
next  to  you. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Next  to  me? — Yes,  yes;  of  course.     Quite  right. 
(He  pets  her.)     Now,  you  monkey,  be  off! 

BEATA. 
I  shall  see  you  before  luncheon,  dear. 

ELLEN. 
Yes,  mother.     (Goes  out.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

I  came  to  speak  to  you  about  our  arrangements. 
I  have  just  received  a  telegram  from  Rossi tsch.     Your 
rooms  are  ready   for  you.     To  prevent  any  talk,  I 
[162] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

shall  take  you  there  and  leave  you.     I  suppose  you 
are  ready  to  start  this  evening? 

BEATA. 
Whenever  you  please,  dear  Michael. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
You  don't  seem  to  have  made  any  preparations. 

BEATA  (smiling). 
I  have  so  few  to  make ! 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

I  have  no  objection  to  Ellen's  remaining  with  you 
till  the  spring.  Then  we  can  see  about  sending  her 
to  a  boarding-school. 

BEATA. 
I  consent  to  that  too. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

You  could  hardly  expect  your  refusal  to  make 
much  difference. 

BEATA  (still  smiling). 
Don't  be  afraid.     I  understand  my  position. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
And  who  is  to  blame  for  it? 

BEATA. 

My  dear  Michael,  we  neither  of  us  care  for  trag- 
edy. Why  not  let  that  be? 

[163] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
You're  right. — Where  have  you  put  my  seat? 

BEATA. 
Here. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Another  torture  to  undergo! 

BEATA. 
Isn't  it  more  than  you  can  bear? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Perhaps — but  it  can't  be  helped.     I  had  to  have 
these  people — I've  got  to  go  through  with  it. 

BEATA. 

Yes,  you've   got  to   go  through  with  it.     And  so 
have  I.     I  need  them  more  than  you  do. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
You?     Why? 

BEATA. 
You  will  see  later. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
You  have  no  right  to  keep  anything  from  me 

BEATA. 

Are   you  keeping  nothing   from  me?     (He   turns 
away.}     Michael,  here  is   a  letter  in  which  I  have 
[164] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

written  something  I  can't  well  say  to  you.     Will  you 
promise  not  to  open  it  till  luncheon  is  over? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Yes. 

BEATA. 
You  give  me  your  word? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Yes. 

BEATA  (giving  him  the  letter). 
Here  it  is. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Thank  you.  Then — I  suppose — we —  (Goes  to 
the  door.) 

BEATA. 
Michael! 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Eh? 

BEATA. 

You  know  I'm  not  very  strong — oh,  don't  misun- 
derstand me!  I'm  not  trying  to  work  on  your  feel- 
ings— but  you  know  how  much  is  at  stake.  If 
Richard  Volkerlingk  should  die  suddenly,  and  I 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (tortured). 
I  beg  of  you,  Beata!     I 

BEATA. 
Well? 

[165] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Go  on. 

BE  ATA. 
You  had  something  to  say. 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (confused). 

I — I  was  only  going  to  tell  you — that  there  will 
be  no  duel. 

BEATA. 

Ah. — Then  the  danger  I  spoke  of  is  removed,  and 
j 

Enter  CONRAD. 

CONRAD. 

His  Highness  Prince  Usingen  and  Baron  Bracht- 
mann  are  in  the  drawing-room. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
I  will  come  at  once.      (CONRAD  goes  out.) 

BEATA. 
If  you  don't  mind  I  will  join  you  at  table. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
You  are  not  well. 

BEATA  (carelessly). 

It's  nothing  to  speak  of.     Don't  keep  them  wait- 
ing.— (KELLINGHAUSEN    stands    before    her,    shaken 
[166] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

with  tearless  sobs.  BEATA  goes  up  to  him  and  lays 
her  hand  softly  on  his  arm.)  Michael,  dear,  when 
I  think  how  I  have  hurt  you  I  should  like  to  fall 
down  before  you  and  kiss  your  hands — I  should  like 
to  show  you — what  is  in  my  heart — but  it's  too  late 
to  say  such  things  now 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Good-bye.  (He  goes  out.  BEATA  rings  and  CON- 
RAD enters.) 

BEATA. 

Ask  Countess  Ellen  to  bring  me  my  drops.  (  CON- 
RAD goes  out.  BEATA  stretches  out  her  arms  and 
passes  her  hands  over  her  face.) 

Enter  ELLEN. 

ELLEN  (in  the  doorway). 

Mother!  Are  you  ill?  (BEATA  stretches  out  her 
arms  again,  half  beckoning  ELLEN,  half  warding  her 
off.  ELLEN,  hastening  to  her.)  Mother!  Mother! 
what  is  it? 

BEATA  (softly). 

Nothing,  nothing.      (She  strokes  ELLEN'S  hair,  lets 
her  arms  slip   gradually  from  the  girl's  shoulders,   and 
•finds  the  phial  containing  the  drops  in  her  left  hand. 
A  long  shudder.)     Give  me  the  drops. 
f  41671 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

ELLEN. 

How  you  snatch!  Here  they  are.  (BE ATA  turns 
the  phial  about  in  her  hand.)  Mother,  are  we  really 
going  to  Rossitsch,  this  evening? 

BE  ATA  (nodding). 
Yes. 

ELLEN. 
In  midwinter?     Why  do  we  go? 

BEATA. 

TT> 

ELLEN. 

What  will  Norbert  say?  It  looks  as  though  you 
wanted  to  separate  us 

BEATA. 
Does  it?     Does  it  really  look  so? 

ELLEN. 
No,  no,  no — forgive  me!     No. 

BEATA. 

But  others  might  want  to  separate  you — for  life 
— for  life,  Ellen!  Do  you  understand? 

ELLEN. 
Mother! 

[168] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

Shall  I  tell  you  what  to  do  if  ever  that  happens? 
Wait  till  you  are  of  age,  and  then  go  to  him  wherever 
he  is,  and  say:  "  My  mother  sent  me."  Do  you  see? 

ELLEN. 
Yes,  yes — but  why ? 

BEATA. 

By  and  by,  at  Rossitsch,  I'll  tell  you.  When  we 
sit  together  in  the  big  hall,  over  the  fire,  with  the 
wind  singing  in  the  chimney.  You'll  like  that,  won't 
you,  dear?  We'll  be  so  jolly  together,  you  and  I. 
And  now,  darling,  go.  (Passionately.)  No,  come 
back —  (kissing  her)  and  now —  (smiling  at  her)  go 
dear,  go!  (ELLEN  goes  out.) 

Enter  CONRAD. 

BEATA. 
Has  every  one  come? 

CONRAD. 
All  but  Baron  Richard. 

BEATA. 

You  may  announce  luncheon,  then.      (CONRAD  goes 
out.     A  moment  later  he  throws  open  the  doors,  and 
BARON  LUDWIG,   PRINCE   USINGEN,  BARON  BRACHT- 
MANN,  and  KELLINGHAUSEN  enter.) 
[169] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BEATA. 

Prince — Herr  von  Brachtmann — how  do  you  do? 
(To  BARON  LUDWIG.)  Your  Excellency,  you  are  to 
sit  on  my  right. 

BARON  LUDWT-. 

You  do  me  too  much  honour.  (CONRAD  closes  the 
folding-doors. ) 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

And  now,  gentlemen,  shall  we  begin  a  la  Russe, 
with  a  little  caviare?  (He  leads  the  others  to  the 
table  near  the  sofa,  where  cold  dishes  and  liqueurs 
are  set  out.) 

PRINCE. 

Your  true  German  can't  abide  a  Russian,  but  we 
all  adore  their  caviare. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Where  can  my  brother  be?  The  feast  is  given 
for  him  and  he  is  the  last  to  appear. 

BRACHTMANN. 

He's  probably  doing  what  we  all  do  the  day  after. 
Poring  over  the  papers. 

PRINCE. 

And  wondering  how  it  is  that  yesterday's  laurels 
have  already  turned  into  thorns. 
[170] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Ah,  that's  part  of  the  game. 

PRINCE. 
No,  it's  the  end  of  the  game. 

BE  ATA. 
What  do  you  mean,  Prince? 

PRINCE. 

That  our  growth  ceases  when  we  gain  our  end. 
Attainment  means  being  nailed  fast — nailed  to  a 
cross,  sometimes ! 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

(While  CONRAD  hands  about  glasses  of  wine.) 
Gentlemen,  won't  you  drop  your  epigrams  and  try 
some  of  my  port? 

PRINCE. 
It's  his  Excellency's  doing.     He  always  begins! 

Enter  a  footman. 

THE  FOOTMAN. 

Baron  Richard  von  Volkerlingk.  (There  if  an  ex- 
pectant murmur.) 

Enter  RICHARD. 

BRACHTMANN   (aside  to  PRINCE). 
I  told  you  there  was  nothing  wrong. 
[171] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

PRINCE. 
Wait  and  see. 

RICHARD   (kissing  BEATA'S  hand). 
Forgive  my  being  so  late.     A  dozen  things  turned 
up  at  the  last  moment.     Excuse  me,  Michael.     (The 
PRINCE  makes  a  sign  to  BRACHTMANN.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

(Shaking  hands  composedly  with  RICHARD.)  Don't 
mention  it,  my  dear  fellow.  We  are  lucky  to  get 
you  at  all.  The  man  of  the  hour — you  can't  have  a 
moment  to  yourself. 

RICHARD. 

I've  not  had  many  yet.  (Shakes  hands  with  him 
again  and  then  turns  to  the  others.) 

BEATA. 

Shall  we  have  luncheon  ?  Volkerlingk,  you  can 
join  us  when  you've  had  your  caviare.  (RICHARD 
makes  a  gesture  refusing  the  hors-d'oeuvre.) 

BRACHTMANN  (aside  to  the  PRINCE). 
WeU? 

PRINCE. 

Irreproachable,  as  usual. 

BRACHTMANN. 

Thank  God!     (They  all  seat  themselves.) 
[172] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

PRINCE  (to  BARON  LUDWIG). 

I  can't  make  your  brother  out.  You  know  him 
better  than  we  do.  Look  at  his  face — what's  the 
matter  with  him? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

We  are  such  complicated  machines,  your  Highness. 
It's  impossible  to  explain  any  one  with  a  word. 

BEATA. 

Take  a  hundred,  then.  (With  a  short  excited 
laugh.)  Life  is  long  enough! 

KELLINGHAUSEN   (to  himself). 
Yes.     Life  is  long  enough. 

RICHARD. 

Instead  of  discussing  my  appearance  I  wish  you 
would  criticise  my  speech. 

PRINCE. 

What  a  gourmet  he  is,  Countess!  He  wants  the 
disapproval  of  his  friends  to  season  the  praise  of 
his  enemies ! 

RICHARD. 
Now,  then,  Brachtmann? 

BRACHTMANN. 

Why,  my  dear   fellow,  if  you  insist — I  must  tell 
you  frankly  that  I  had  hoped  you  would  lay  more 
stress  on  the  view  of  marriage  as  a  divine  institution. 
[173] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD. 

I  have  the  greatest  respect  for  that  view  of  mar- 
riage, but  I  fear  it  might  have  invalidated  the  sci- 
entific side  of  my  argument.  What  do  you  say, 
Prince  ? 

PRINCE. 

And  what  if  it  did?  It's  much  more  gratifying 
to  our  vanity  to  think  ourselves  the  objects  of  divine 
solicitude  than  the  victims  of  natural  law.  (BRACHT- 
MANN  and  BARON  LUDWIQ  protest.  BE  ATA  laughs.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Really,  Usingen ! 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

Isn't  your  Highness's  scepticism  a  little  overdone? 
Surely  society  has  made  us  the  natural  protectors  of 
the  social  order.  The  order  may  change  with  the 
times — all  we  ask  is  that  it  should  maintain  the 
moral  balance  of  power.  (BE ATA  laughs.)  You  are 
amused,  Countess? 

BE  ATA   (still  laughing). 

I  was  only  laughing  to  think  how  often  I'd  heard 
it  before — the  moral  balance  of  power,  and  all  the 
rest!  I'm  sure  our  ancestors  sang  the  same  song 
when  they  threw  their  victims  to  Moloch.  And  our 
souls  are  still  thrown  by  the  million  to  the  Moloch 
[174  ] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

of  social  expediency.  We  are  all  expected  to  sacri- 
fice our  personal  happiness  to  the  welfare  of  the  race ! 
(She  laughs  excitedly.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (almost  threateningly). 
Beata ! 

BARON  LUDWIO. 
Countess,  you  are  conjuring  up  a  phantom. 

BEATA. 

It  may  be  a  phantom,  but  it  has  us  by  the  throat. 
— (To  RICHARD.)  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Vol- 
kerlingk?  You  are  not  going  to  refuse  our  cele- 
brated game-pie? 

RICHARD. 

I  beg  your  pardon.  I  wasn't  thinking.  (He 
helps  himself  to  the  dish.) 

BEATA. 

You  must  know  that  that  pie  is  an  invention  of 
my  own! 

PRINCE. 

Dear  me,  Countess,  are  you  at  home  in  every 
branch  of  learning? 

BEATA. 

Oh,  I  had  the  making  of  a  great  cook  in  me.     I 
believe   I'm  the  last   of  the  old  school — the  model 
[175] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

housekeeper,  the  domestic  wife,  the  high-priestess  of 
the  family !  (She  goes  on  laughing  excitedly  and 
MICHAEL  nervously  echoes  her  laugh.) 

RICHARD. 

(Making  a  perceptible  effort  to  change  the  conver- 
sation.) My  dear  Countess,  no  one  ever  ventures  to 
dispute  your  statements.  But  there  is  one  family 
about  which  I  want  to  say  a  word — and  that  is  the 
one  we  are  in.  (Rising.)  I  drink  to  the  house  of 
Kellinghausen ! 

THE  OTHERS. 
Hear — hear ! 

RICHARD. 

The  house  of  Kellinghausen !  As  I  look  back  over 
my  life,  I  don't  know  how  to  sum  up  all  I  owe  to  it. 
(He  turns  to  BE  ATA.)  To  you,  my  dear  friend 

KELLINGHAUSEN   (with  forced  gaiety). 
Is  this  a  settlement  in  full,  my  dear  fellow? 

RICHARD. 

(Taken  aback,  but  recovering  himself  instantly.) 
You're  right,  Michael.  There's  no  use  trying;  but 
there's  something  I  want  to  say  to  you. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Hear!  hear! 

[176J 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD  (to  the  others). 

Since  yesterday,  you  all  know  what  I  owe  him. 
My  success  is  his  doing,  all  his  doing.  If  I've 
gained  my  end,  if  I've  reached  the  goal  at  last,  it's 
to  Kellinghausen  I  owe  it.  Here's  to  my  good  friend 
and  yours ! 

THE  OTHERS. 
Hear!     Hear!     (They  clink  their  glasses.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

(With  a  strained  laugh,  as  he  and  RICHARD  touch 
glasses.)  You  might  have  left  that  out. 

RICHARD. 
I  should  have  written  it  if  I  hadn't  said  it. 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (still  on  his  feet). 
Gentlemen — Beata — I  may  speak  for  all  of  you, 
I  believe?  I  think  our  friend  Volkerlingk  proved 
conclusively  yesterday  that  if  he  has  taken  my  place 
it  is  because  he  has  the  best  right  to  it.  (On  the 
verge  of  an  outburst.)  A  better  right  to  it — than — 
(He  is  checked  by  a  terrified  glance  from  BEATA, 
who  utters  a  low  exclamation.)  Well — well — I'm  not 
much  of  a  speech-maker. — Gentlemen — Beata — long 
life  to  our  friend  Volkerlingk — long  life  to  my  suc- 
cessor ! 

[177] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

BE  AT  A. 

(In  a  low  voice,  while  the  others  gather  about 
RICHARD.)  Long  life  to  him!  (She  presses  her 
hand  to  her  heart,  and  rests  heavily  against  the  arm 
of  her  chair.) 

PRINCE  (to  KELLINGHAUSEN). 
Is  anything  wrong  with  the  Countess? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Beata ! 

BE  ATA  (raising  herself  with  a  smile). 
Yes? 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Would  you  not  rather  go  into  the  drawing-room? 
You  look  tired.  (She  shakes  her  head.) 

RICHARD. 

(In  a  formal  tone,  with  a  glance  at  MICHAEL.) 
We  all  beg  of  you,  Countess 

BEATA. 

(Looking  from  one  to  the  other  with  growing 
apprehension.)  No — no — no — I'm  quite — quite — on 
the  contrary — 7  have  a  toast  to  propose.  (RICHARD 
makes  a  startled  gesture.)  Yes — a  toast  of  my  own! 

But  please  all  sit  down  first 

[178] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

PRINCE. 
Woman  disposes ! 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Beata,  you  are  overtaxing  yourself.     Be  careful. 

BE  AT  A. 

My  dear  friends,  you  all  go  on  wishing  each  other 
a  long  life — but  which  of  us  is  really  alive?  Which 
of  us  really  dares  to  live?  Somewhere,  far  off  in 
the  distance,  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  life — but  we  hide 
our  eyes  and  shrink  away  from  it  like  transgressors. 
And  that's  our  nearest  approach  to  living!  Do  you 
really  think  you're  alive — any  one  of  you?  Or  do 
you  think  I  am?  (She  springs  up  with  an  inspired 
look.)  But  I,  at  least — I — whose  whole  life  is  one 
long  struggle  against  death — I  who  never  sleep,  who 
hardly  breathe,  who  barely  stand — I  at  least  know 
how  to  laugh,  how  to  love  life  and  be  thankful  for 
it!  (She  staggers  to  her  feet,  raising  her  glass,  her 
voice  no  more  than  a  hoarse  whisper.)  And  as  the 
only  living  soul  among  you,  I  drink  to  the  joy  of 
living ! 

THE  OTHERS  (holding  out  their  glasses). 
Good !     Good !     Bravo ! 

BEATA. 

(Draws  a  deep  breath,  sets  down  her  glass,  and 
looks  about  her  confusedly.  Her  eyes  rest  on  RICH- 

r  179 1 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

ARD,  and  then  turn  to  MICHAEL,  to  whom  she  speaks.) 
I  think  I  will  take  your  advice  and  go  into  the  other 
room  for  a  little  while.  (She  rises  with  an  effort.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
There,  Beata!     I  warned  you. 

BARON  LUDWIG  (offering  her  his  arm). 
Won't  you  take  my  arm,  Countess? 

BEATA. 

No,  no — thanks!  Michael,  make  my  excuses.  I 
shall  be  back  in  a  few  minutes.  (She  lingers  in  the 
doorway  with  a  last  smile  and  a  last  look  at  RICH- 
ARD.) Good-bye.  I  shall  be  back — in  a  few  min- 
utes. (Goes  out.) 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (to  the  others). 
Don't  be  alarmed.  My  wife  often  breaks  down  in 
this  way — I  knew  by  her  excitement  that  it  was  com- 
ing. Please  sit  down  again.  I  assure  you  that  in  a 
few  minutes  she — (A  heavy  fall  is  heard  in  the 
next  room.  RICHARD  starts  violently.  MICHAEL  half 
springs  from  his  seat,  but  controls  himself  with  an 
effort.  There  is  a  short  pause.) — she'll  be  coming 
back  laughing  as  usual.  (Whispers  are  heard  be- 
hind the  door  to  the  left.  RICHARD  is  seen  to  listen 
intently.)  What  are  you  listening  to?  What's  the 
matter  ? 

F  180  1 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

RICHARD   (agitated). 

I  beg  your  pardon — I  thought  I —  (ELLEN  is 
heard  to  utter  a  piercing  scream.  The  men  start  to 
their  feet.  MICHAEL  rushes  out.) 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Surely  that  was  Countess  Ellen's  voice? 

PRINCE. 

It  doesn't  look  as  if  the  Countess  were  going  to 
come  back  laughing  as  usual. 

MICHAEL  enters  with  a  ghastly  face. 

KELLINGHAUSEN  (hoarsely). 

The  nearest  doctor — any  one — quick!  (Goes  out 
again.  RICHARD  makes  a  motion  as  though  to  follow 
himf  then  turns  and  rushes  out  of  the  door  to  the 
right.) 

BRACHTMANN. 

The  Countess  is  subject  to  such  attacks;  but  this 
seems — different. 

PRINCE. 
H'm — yes — quite  so.      (There  is  a  long  silence.) 

BRACHTMANN  (to  BARON  LUDWIG). 
Your  brother  may  not  be  able  to  find  a  doctor. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

We  must  hope  for  the  best.      (Another  silence.) 
[181] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

PRINCE. 
Perhaps  we  had  better  be  going 

BRACHTMANN. 

(Nods  his  assent;  then  to  BARON  LUDWIG.)  Are 
you  coming? 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

I  shall  wait  for  my  brother.  (He  shakes  hands 
with  them.) 

PRINCE. 

H'm.  (He  and  BRACHTMANN  go  out.  BARON 
LUDWIG  walks  up  and  down  the  room  shaking  his 
head.) 

Enter  CONRAD. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Well? 

CONRAD. 

I  can't  say  yet,  your  Excellency.  (He  goes  to  the 
table.)  We  are  looking  for  the  drops.  Countess 
Ellen  gave  them  to  the  Countess  herself  before 
luncheon. 

BARON  LUDWIG. 

I  thought  I  saw  something  in  her  hand  at  luncheon. 
Has  any  one  looked  in  her  hand? 

CONRAD. 

No.     (He  goes  out.     There  is  a  pause.) 
[182] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

Enter  RICHARD  and  a  doctor. 

RICHARD. 
Well?     Has  anything 

BARON  LUDWIG. 
Nothing. 

RICHARD. 
Will  you  come  this  way,  doctor? 

THE  DOCTOR. 

Thank  you.  (RICHARD  and  the  doctor  go  out. 
BARON  LUDWIG  continues  to  pace  the  floor.) 

Enter  NORBERT  by  door  on  the  right. 

NORBERT. 

Uncle,  what  has  happened?  I've  just  met  Bracht- 
mann  and  Usingen.  They  said — uncle —  (BARON 
LUDWIG  points  silently  to  the  door  on  the  left.  NOR- 
BERT hurries  through  it.  Another  pause.  BARON 
LUDWIG  continues  to  pace  up  and  down.  The  doctor, 
RICHARD  and  MICHAEL  come  slowly  into  the  room.) 

THE  DOCTOR  (after  a  silence). 

Count,  I  am  extremely  sorry  to  have  come  too 
late.  But  it  may  be  some  comfort  to  you  to  know 
that  I  could  have  done  nothing.  Death  was  the  re- 
sult of  heart  disease — the  end  must  have  been  instan- 
taneous. May  I  ask  who  was  the  Countess's  regular 
physician  ? 

I.          J 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Dr.  Kahlenberg. 

THE  DOCTOR. 

I  will  notify  him  at  once.  Permit  me  to  offer  my 
sympathy. 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Thank  you,  doctor.  (Shakes  his  hand  and  accom- 
panies him  to  the  door.  The  doctor  goes  out.  BARON 
LUDWIG  shakes  KELLINGHAUSEN'S  hand  silently,  nods 
to  RICHARD  and  withdraws.) 

RICHARD. 

Thank  you,  Michael  —  for  letting  me  be  with 
her— 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 
Read  this.     (Hands  him  BEATA'S  letter.) 

RICHARD. 

(Takes  the  letter,  shudders  at  sight  of  the  hand- 
writing, tries  to  read  it,  and  then  hands  it  back.)  I 

cannot 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Then  I  will  read  it  to  you.  It's  meant  for  both 
of  us.  (He  reads.)  "  Dear  Michael,  even  if  the 
poison  is  found  in  me  they  will  think  I  took  it  by 
mistake.  To  avoid  suspicion  I  shall  do  it  while  we 
are  all  at  luncheon.  I  see  that  some  one  must  pay 
[184] 


THE    JOY    OF    LIVING 

the  penalty — better  I  than  he.  He  has  his  work  be- 
fore him — I  have  lived  my  life.  And  so  I  mean  to 
steal  a  march  on  him.  Whatever  you  have  agreed 
upon  between  you,  my  death  will  cancel  the  bargain 
— he  cannot  die  now  without  causing  the  scandal  you 
have  been  so  anxious  to  avert.  I  have  always  loved 
happiness,  and  I  find  happiness  now  in  doing  this 
for  his  sake,  and  the  children's  and  yours.  Beata." 
As  she  says,  this  cancels  our  agreement.  You  see 
that  I  must  give  you  back  your  word. 

RICHARD. 
And  you  see,  Michael — 

Enter  NORBERT. 

NORBERT. 

(Throws   himself  weeping  into  KELLINGHAUSEN'S 
arms.)     Uncle  Michael! 

KELLINGHAUSEN. 

Go,    my    son  —  go    to    Ellen.     (NORBERT    wrings 
RICHARD'S  hand  without  speaking,  and  goes  out.) 

RICHARD. 

And  you  see,  Michael,  that  I  live  because  I  must 
— that  I  live — because  I  am  dead 

CURTAIN. 
[185] 


oinoanv 


